Like a Love Song
by GreyLady1575
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a rock star who has never fallen in love, or so he claims... Amelia is a pop idol and Arthur's former protégé who betrayed him by leaving his band. Now, four years later, the two find themselves "dating" as part of the craziest publicity stunt in BWTA history. Will they be able to rekindle their friendship or will the secrets of the past reveal something else?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

 **This fiction will contain some characters in their female/alternate gendered forms, if you don' t like, please do not read. You have been warned :)**

Music flowed like electricity through the air. The concert hall was packed with energized fans, pushing and shoving to be closer to the stage as the multicolored spotlights strobed through the crowd. Hands eagerly reached to the performers above, hoping to brush the coat hems of the band members as they made their way around the stage to the upbeat Euro pop.

Arthur Kirkland sighed, shook his head, and looked around at the lush room surrounding him. Plush seats, lined in rows of two; and a state-of-the-art sound system that insured that the sound was not obscured by the glass window for any of the entertainers to enjoy. Yes, Arthur was grateful to be alone in the Agency's private luxury box and far away from the overly zealous crowd; it was truly ironic. Though he was the lead singer and guitarist for his own band, he had such distaste for crowds that, had he not been in a band, he likely would have avoided concerts all together. He worshiped the music, but found the suffocatingly close company of others to be quite...barbaric.

"Ja!" a loud, obnoxious voice rang over the noise of the crowd. Arthur snapped to attention, having been so lost in the music that he had failed to realize that the song had ended. Down on the stage, the fair-haired band stood, waving as the albino presenter addressed the crowd. "Weren't they awesome?!" The crowd screamed in agreement, cheering and clapping wildly as the lead singer stepped forward.

"From the bottom of our hearts; thanks everyone, you've all been amazing!" The tall, blonde woman boomed, flashing a blindingly bright smile. Arthur smirked, Mathia hadn't changed a bit: she was still the loud-mouthed Dane he remembered; with her long, unruly hair and mischievous eyes.

As the crowd continued to roar, Gilbert smirked at the crowd, "Come now, everyone! The Awesome Me believes that the Queen of the North deserves more than that!" Incredibly, the crowd's cheers grew louder than before, urged by the albino's words. Arthur wrinkled his nose, although he did not care for the German, he begrudgingly respected his ability for hyping up an audience.

As Mathia and her band left the stage, a hush fell over the spectators as though every person in the audience were holding their breath. Arthur's heart began to pound and again he was thankful for the privacy he was afforded. It was time. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to put your hands together and welcome the star of our show." Gilbert alluded. Arthur couldn't breathe. "She's been gone, touring around all fifty states, the territories, as well as Canada, but tonight she finally returns to The Big Apple. Everyone, please welcome the Pop Princess herself, Amelia F. Jones!"

And, suddenly, there she was, slowly walking from the shadows of backstage into the hot spotlight. The crowd went mad, screaming—no—shrieking louder than ever before, but Arthur could not hear them. The deafening noise could not reach him as he stared at the girl with the golden-wheat colored hair and eyes as big and blue as the sky itself. She had changed over the years—that was for certain. Her hair flowed to just past her waist, no longer cropped to just above her shoulders. Her style was flashier with more ruffles and glitter than before, though no doubt the producers and a certain Frenchman had played a part in her image change. What struck him most of all, however, was how…grown up she looked. Her body had lost the flat, parallel lines of youth and had adopted a more womanly curve, from her chest to her waist to her—ahem…well. . .

Arthur closed his eyes; she was no longer the little girl he had met all those years ago, the little girl whom he had immediately declared to be his "Little Sister." No, she was the girl whom had left him—err—his band, in favor of autonomy or, as she called it, "freedom".

Arthur felt the hot sting of emotion rising behind his closed lids. It was laughable. He was Arthur Kirkland of the punk band, Beasts of Britannia. In the magazines, he was always in the top 10 most eligible men lists—if not at the top himself. He was praised for his blond hair, green eyes, and punk style. He could win the heart of any girl; well, any girl, except one…

Glad that his brothers hadn't come with him to the luxury box, Arthur slid his sleeve over his eyes and took a breath before turning to gaze at the American once more. From behind the one-way glass, he could study her closely, more closely than he usually dared.

She wore sparkling, red boots that came to her thighs and a short dress patterned after a shimmering, black and red butterfly's wing, with black tulle filling out the skirt. The over-the-top look was completed with the costume makeup that made her face appear to be that of a living doll. Eyelids covered in glitter, false lashes fanning long and wide, lips as red as the cross of the Union Jack.

It was gaudy, over-the-top, extremely fake. He wanted to hate it, he wanted to slow his racing heart, he wanted to look away and scoff at the American's poor taste. Instead, he continued to stare, memorizing the arch of her lips; the curve of her jaw; her delicate features. She hadn't dressed for him, she probably hadn't given him a single passing thought when her stylists had dressed her, and normally he could criticize every aspect of her ensemble, down to the smallest stitch. But now he could only gaze, speechless.

"Hello, New York City!" Her bright, brash voice erupted over the crowd; once again the spectators erupted into a roar of delight. "I am so happy to be back in the NYC!" Amelia continued, her 1,000 watt smile electrifying the crowd. "Although I had a lot of fun on my 50 States and Beyond Tour, coming back to this place," she paused for a moment, waiting for the din to calm. "Returning to this place is like returning home! So, thank you all for taking time out of your weekend to join me in celebrating my homecoming! I promise; I'll do my best to entertain you this evening! Are y'all ready for a fun night?!" The crowd screamed as the anticipation doubled, tripled, and continued to grow. The pop star giggled her assent, "All right then! Hit it!"

The music started, a repetitive beat thrumming through the air and reverberating through the ground. Lights flashed and swept through the audience in a rainbow of color as unseen stagehands threw glow sticks into the crowd. Then, Amelia began to sing.

It was a frivolous song and held none of the depth that Arthur's songs did, but after all she was a pop star. Her songs were meant to be fun and breezy, something to dance to in a club. So, why did Arthur's chest feel tight after listening to her speak? And now, listening to her sing?

The door to the luxury box swung open carelessly and Arthur was pulled out of his thoughts. Voices filled the room before anyone noticed Arthur's presence.

"That was so much fun!" A cheerful male voice sang out.

"Eh, maybe, but it was hard to concentrate with Mathia bouncing around stage, acting a fool." A different, more tsundere voice remarked.

Turning, Arthur could see the Nordics filing into the previously quiet viewing box. First was Tino, the Finnish singer, followed by Arthur's friend Lukas, the ever-somber Norwegian. They were followed by the tall, Swede named Berwald, his half-sister Mathia, and Lukas' younger sister, Emilie.

"Are you saying that you couldn't take your eyes off of me, Lukas?" Mathia asked, teasingly tugging on the random curl located on the side of the Norwegian's hair.

Lukas flushed and swatted the blonde's hand away with an annoyed air. "No, I'm saying that as clumsy as you are, you need to be more mindful of what is around you. Your stupid heels almost kicked my drum set twice, annoying sister."

Mathia grinned, "Whateve-" she happened to glance Arthur's way and stopped, the banter dying in her throat and the smile slipping from her lips. Her sudden silence did not go unnoticed as the other four slowly turned and saw the Englishman staring back at them.

Tino was the first to recover, "Arthur! Is that really you?" The short blond ran over and gave Arthur a hug before continuing. "It seems like it's been AGES since you last came here, to the agency's headquarters, I mean…"

Yes, Arthur and his brothers were contracted to the same agency as the Nordics and Amelia, the "Beautiful World Talent Agency" or BWTA for short. It was an agency that collected and celebrated talent from across the globe. That being said, it did not house a plethora of performers—only the best of the best which made the agency feel small, like a family. Arthur had been deliberately avoiding this family. For four years, he had made every excuse to avoid holiday parties, birthdays, and group celebrations in general.

"Yes, been quite busy. My brothers and I just wrapped up a world tour a few weeks ago; I haven't had time to visit much." He said easily. It was the truth, the truth and a convenient way to avoid returning to headquarters for a number of years. But like all excuses, it too finally ran out. "I was actually summoned here to meet with the president." He added. Why did he feel the need to explain his sudden return to New York?

Berwald hummed thoughtfully but said nothing. Emilie merely stared at the Brit, though Arthur couldn't help but feel as though she were looking through him rather than at him.

"The President of the Agency?!" Tino gasped, seemingly in excitement. "It's not often that someone is called to a one-on-one meeting with him! How exciting! Isn't that right, Sve?"

Berwald glanced from Tino to Arthur before answering to the pet name, "Yes, it is."

"It's true, Artie," Mathia said, a small smile returning to her lips as she extended a hand to him. Arthur clasped her hand, deciding to overlook the annoying nickname for the moment. As she released his hand, she tilted her head and glanced out the window to the colorful pop concert taking place below. "And, if you can, make sure you see Amelia. I know that it would mean the world to her to see you."

Arthur couldn't protest fast enough, the words caught in his throat. He highly doubted that Amelia would want to see him; in fact he knew she wouldn't want to see him. She had made that agonizingly apparent four years ago. Reaching for his coat, Arthur made for a speedy retreat. "Ah, yes, well, I best be on my way! I wanted to change out of my traveling clothes before my meeting! Good night, all!"

A hand grabbed his wrist as he reached the doorknob. Ready to snap, he looked up and saw two uncharacteristically serious, blue eyes boring into his green ones. "Just…think about it," Mathia said, voice devoid of its usual good humor. The girl hesitated before continuing, "Just…trust me. She would be really happy to see you."

Lukas nodded silently, for once agreeing with Mathia.

Arthur sighed and then gently, but firmly, removed his hand from the other's grasp. "I really must be going." He murmured, not looking up to face his fellow musicians as he fled.

…

Sliding his hands over his ears, Arthur felt as though his head were about to burst. "Shut up," he growled to the musical hum currently invading his private room. It had been about an hour since he had fled the Nordics in the luxury box and yet the sounds of the American's concert gave no sign of slowing anytime soon.

Arthur glanced at the clock and sighed before pushing himself from his bed and walking over to his closet. It wasn't a surprise that he could hear HER concert, after all headquarters held both the concert hall and the artists' private living quarters—though in different wings. It was surprising that the music seemed so loud tonight. All of the bedrooms had been designed to muffle sound just for occasions like this, though it currently seemed as though the walls were instead constructed out of paper. Lovely _._

Choosing a black leather jacket and boots to match, the Brit ran his hands through his rough locks before leaving for his meeting with the president. Closing the door behind him, Arthur couldn't help but listen to the music resonating through the halls, cutting him with every bass beat and pointless chorus.

The dull thud of his boots on the shined marble floor was satisfying, with every step he took, he found himself to be further and further from the bouncy pop music that so offended his ears. If he were to be completely honest to himself, Arthur was also a bit saddened as every step also led away from her. However, the stubborn rock star was rarely, if ever, honest when it came to the muddled feelings that he had for the Yank.

Foot after foot, he made his way. Why was it that when one wished to forget about something or to simply stop thinking about something, that thought is suddenly the only one that the brain cares to dwell upon? The thought angered him; this was why he hated returning to the States, it was like he had no choice but to think upon subjects that he would prefer to forget. The past, especially the painful, anger-riddled past, was the hardest to put behind you. Betrayal was no exception.

"Welcome, Mr. Kirkland," a deep voice murmured quietly, making Arthur jump.

Looking up, Arthur saw a tall man with long, blond hair regarding him with a single raised brow. Swiftly glancing about, Arthur realized that he was already in the reception area outside of the president's office, though he had been too engulfed in his thoughts to realize.

Noticing the German man's unrelenting stare, Arthur felt his ears grow hot as he found his voice. "Er—good evening, Vice-president Beilschmidt, I'm here to meet with President Vargas." It came out sounding almost like a question and he inwardly sighed. How this man was the father of that loudmouthed Gilbert, he could never fathom.

The blond nodded and gestured to a doorway to the right of his desk. "The president is running late tonight," Beilschmidt stated matter-of-factly, although Arthur would have sworn that he saw the stoic man's eyes roll in disdain. "You may wait in his office if you'd like," he said as he opened the door for the rock star. "Help yourself to whatever you'd like, there is a full bar behind his desk. I'll let you know as soon as I track him down."

"Er—thanks…" Arthur managed. Although he was not pleased at being forced to wait, he did feel a bit sorry for the president. By the look on the stern, vice-president's face, the president was going to get an earful whenever he did finally show up.

Walking into the room, Arthur didn't bother with turning on the lights. The lamps from the street down below were bright enough to illuminate the room without the assistance of the fluorescent overhead lights. Besides, he had finally gotten away from that god-awful American pop rubbish; perhaps his head would stop throbbing soon.

He headed for the leather couch on the opposite end of the room and sat down. It was a chore not to fall asleep as the jet-lag finally seemed to be catching up with him—not having the lights on wasn't helping either. Stifling a yawn, Arthur glanced toward the giant wall of glass that overlooked the busy street.

After about fifteen minutes, Arthur was beginning to grow impatient. He had crossed the ocean for this meeting and the president did not even have the decency to show up? The nerve!

A door opened outside of the office and muffled voices could be heard. Oh sure, the _president's_ room was properly guarded against foreign sound. The vice-president's anger did not last long apparently, as footsteps neared the door and the handle turned. Slowly rising to greet the president, Arthur stopped at the sound of a sharp, surprised gasp. A sharp, surprised, feminine gasp…

Straightening slowly and blinking against the light streaming in from the next room, Arthur's heart began to pound painfully as he turned his face toward the person standing in the doorway. Long, wheat-colored hair; eyes wide and blue as the sky... There she was, standing in the doorway, light surrounding her.

They both stood for a moment, staring, unsure what to do.

She smiled. As her bright-as-the-sun grin grew slowly on her face, her eyes crinkled with apparent delight.

"Hi, Artie…"

 **Thank you for taking the time to read my first publication to this site, I appreciate it!**

 **Anyway, this chapter is really just setting the story up and, quite honestly, it was hard to write (I hate beginning stories with a passion). If it is within my power, things will pick up from here ;)**

 **Okay, head-cannons...for the sake of the story I've decided to change some of the characters' gender. So far they include America (Amelia), Denmark (Mathia), and Iceland (Emilie). In addition, I'm working under the idea that Sweden and Denmark are half-siblings-it will make sense later (maybe).**

 **Feel free to leave comments or send a private message to let me know what you think.**

 **'Til next time!**

 **Published: 28/10/2016**

 **Words: 2,847**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

"Hi, Artie."

"Arthur," the Brit corrected, eyeing the girl with glowering, green eyes as she crossed the room.

Amelia sighed lightly, her smile fading quickly. "Yeah…" she agreed lamely coming to a halt right in front of him. Her intent had been to engulf the stuffy, rock star into a hug, but suddenly that didn't seem like such a good idea.

A silence fell over the pair as the door finally shut with a dull thud. The dark room was only illuminated by the street below. Amelia had forgotten the light switch in her haste. Stupid, she chided herself, watching as Arthur sat on the couch once again. It was dumb; why had she immediately gone to hug him: instinct; muscle memory; habit? Shouldn't those things be long gone? It had been years after all…

Amelia folded her arms and glanced about the dark room. Everything looked spooky in the dim light: the records and awards hanging from the wall to the row of clocks that displayed international times. Should she go turn on the light? Would that be awkward? Probably no more awkward than just standing in the dark room, she reasoned.

Wait, why hadn't Arthur turned on the lights? Why had he been waiting in the dark? Amelia turned to regard the man, only to find him staring at her. Though she couldn't be certain, it looked as though his face was a bit flushed. Amelia's own face grew hot as she spun around on her heel. "Um, I think Beilschmidt might want some help tracking down the Prez, so maybe I'll just-"

"Don't be daft, Amelia." The British voice snipped from behind her. Turning, Amelia saw Arthur was standing once again, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, with a rosy dusting to his cheeks. "Mr. Beilschmidt will likely return with the President any minute now, and if we can't even wait for him in the same room…" his voice trailed off and he sighed in apparent annoyance. "Please, just sit."

Amelia frowned, turning back to face him. "You're one to talk, you're the one who is always avoiding me," she mumbled, striding to the sofa and sitting down with a huff. She felt the cushions shift under new weight and knew that Arthur too was sitting.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Arthur cleared his throat. "So," he asked quietly, "How have you been?"

Amelia did not respond right away. Though she was surprised that Arthur was making an effort, she was still a bit irked at the tone he had used earlier. "Good," she finally answered. "And you?"

"I've been well, thank you for asking."

Another pregnant pause.

Amelia sighed and looked up to meet somber, green eyes. "Arthur, why can't we just be friends again?" she asked. "I hate this; it's like I can't even talk to you anymore."

"You know bloody well why we can't be friends Amelia," Arthur snapped quietly, his hands clutching into fists and brows arching slightly.

It was true; Amelia did know Arthur's reasoning.

Four years ago, in order to be rid of her tyrant of an agent, Amelia had fought to become an emancipated minor. Arthur had begged her to reconsider; by becoming emancipated and ending her contract, she would also be leaving the band…leaving Arthur.

Amelia had tried-she really had; she had bitten her tongue more times than she could count; too god-d**n much, if you asked her. Her agent kept taking a healthy percentage of her earnings as his commission and held her funds in a trust, inaccessible to the teen. Being an orphan without a mother or a father, everything she needed or wanted had to go through him. Every detail in her life had to be approved by her agent; from the way she walked, talked, dressed; hell, he even decided what brand of toothpaste she could have.

Life under his reign was intolerable. Though he was, arguably, a competent agent, he had been demanding and left the teen without any other choice. With the help of her friends, Francis and Gilbert, Amelia had taken her case to court.

She had won and left the band. Arthur still hadn't forgiven her for it.

"Arthur, that was four years ago," Amelia said exasperatedly. "Can't you let it go?"

Before the Brit could retort, the office door burst open and a loud voice rang out, "Mi familia!"

The pair flinched as the lights suddenly flickered to life. Blinking, Amelia only had time to glance a blur of olive skin and a mane of dark hair before being engulfed by a strong arm that lifted her into the air.

With Arthur tucked in the crook of his left arm and Amelia clutched by his right, Roma Vargas held his young celebrities close in his bearlike hug. Though he was the grandfather of the Vargas twins, Amelia had a hard time believing that this man could be any older than forty.

"G-grandpa Roma," Amelia gasped, "I can't breathe."

"I'm sorry," Roma laughed, sounding only slightly sheepish as he set the pair down. "You're both just so cute! You remind me of my sweet little Feliciano and my darling little Romano!"

"Roma," Vice-President Beilschmidt cautioned from his position near the door. "It looks like we came at a bad time." The older blond looked first at Arthur and then to Amelia, scrutinizing them from a distance.

"No, of course not," Arthur assured the two elder men quickly, sending a poignant glance to Amelia. "We were just talking."

"Yeah, whatever," Amelia muttered, dropping the subject and marching over to one of the leather chairs in front of the President's desk.

"Oh, okay," Roma nodded, blindly accepting the weak explanation. He motioned for Arthur to take the chair next to Amelia as he walked around the desk and seated himself. Mr. Beilschmidt followed and stood directly to the right of Roma. Though he did not seem to accept Arthur's account, he kept quiet.

"I'm so glad that you two seem to be making amends nicely. That makes this whole business a lot simpler." Mr. Vargas continued airily, smirking at the pair.

"What business would that be, exactly?" Arthur asked. Amelia did not have to see his face to know that it was scrunched and suspicious; she could hear it all in the tone of his voice. "And why am I in a meeting with _Her_?" He continued, putting a venomous emphasis on the word.

"Oh yeah?!" Amelia snapped to face the Brit to her right, standing abruptly. "Like I want to be anywhere near you, you tea-loving jerk!"

"I-I beg your pardon?!" Arthur too was now on his feet, scowling at the girl.

Roma stood, his chair rolled backward, hitting the window behind him with such force that it was a miracle that the glass didn't shatter. "Now, now children," he bellowed over their bickering. His voice was loud and firm, ceasing the dialogue between the young adults. Returning to his seat, the President sighed dramatically and laced his fingers together. "That's better. Now, as to why I called you both here tonight," he grinned widely, "I have a proposal."

At this, Amelia stopped glaring daggers to the side of Arthur's head to regard the President. A chill ran down her spine. This didn't sound good…

Mr. Beilschmidt cleared his throat, cutting into Vargas' monologue. "I've gone over the numbers, multiple times, and it appears as though the public interest surrounding the agency is down slightly from last year." He sighed, glaring at Roma, before continuing, "Nothing to be too concerned about, it's only down by a point or two. However-"

"However," the president intervened, "I cannot allow these numbers, not so close to the Agency's twenty-fifth anniversary show! Slipping even marginally is unacceptable!" He smirked wickedly to the young musicians. "So…" he let his next statement linger, toying with their imaginations.

Amelia frowned, "So…what?"

"So," Arthur mused, his voice deadpan "you want us to do something to drum up the paparazzi; a publicity stunt."

The pop star blinked, regarding the president's growing smile. "Dude, you mean like, a battle of the bands kinda thing, right?" She stole a quick glance to her British companion and smirked. "Because, I'd totally kick his butt in a musical throwdown."

"Ha!" Arthur scoffed "As if! There is no way that your American-Pop drivel could ever compare to _real_ music."

"Actually," the Italian man interjected, before the bickering could continue, "I was thinking that we could catch public interest with something a bit more…romantic…" He raised his eyebrow suggestively.

Amelia frowned and returned the raised eyebrow, confused. Turning to Arthur for a clue as to what the President was suggesting, she found that the Brit's face was crimson. Well, that was no help. "Ooookaaaay…and what exactly are you hinting at?" She could hear Arthur groan incredulously at the question but chose to ignore him for the moment.

"To put it simply, I want the two of you to pose as a happy, little couple." Mr. Vargas' eyes twinkled dreamily. "Just imagine it! So cuuuute!"

"HELL NO!" Amelia and Arthur cried out in unison.

"See," President Vargas laughed, "you two are already in perfect sync with each other! It'll be a historic coupling, former friends-turned rivals, falling in love! The press will have a field day!"

Amelia felt intense heat rise to her cheeks and she felt sure that she was now just as red as Arthur. "W-wait a minute!" she cried out "What about Francis?!" As eyes turned on her, Amelia felt compelled to continue, "A lot of the agency's fans ship Arthur and Francis together, w-why not give the fans what they want?!"

"What the bloody hell does 'ship' mean?" Arthur snarled.

The American couldn't help the smirk that grew on her face. "It means that they pair the two of you together and want you to fall madly in love and live happily ever after!" She turned to the president, slammed her hands on his desk and stated, quite seriously, "I ship it."

"Well, I don't!" Arthur seethed, crossing his arms. "And why can't it be you paired with that bloody frog?!"

"Because he's your old rival; because you've known him longer; he and I simply don't have all of the sexual tension between us that you guys do; and let's not forget the allure of angsty boys' love!" Amelia counted the reasons on her fingertips. "Take your pick." Arthur flushed even deeper but couldn't seem to find the proper words to retaliate.

Roma laughed heartily. "Bella, you surely must know that there are many fans that 'ship' you and Arthur as well."

"Yeah, but-"

"Besides," Roma continued, effectively shushing the American, "Monsieur Bonnefoy is no longer in the music business, it would not be a current rivalry between him and Mr. Kirkland. But you two; the tension is fresh and we can use that to our advantage."

"And if we refuse?" Amelia pressed, her blue eyes serious.

"Well, we can't make you go along with our little plan," Roma conceded. "However, if our ratings don't go up in the next few months, it could be very difficult to push through the paperwork necessary to approve things like new singles, albums, shows…"

Arthur crossed his arms, "Funny, the way you put it; it almost sounds like blackmail." Amelia was glad that, for once, it was the president and not her that was the subject of the British man's disdain.

"Does it?" Vargas asked cheekily, as he scratched his chin. His grin never leaving his face as he neither confirmed nor denied the allegation. The president's eyes flit back and forth between Amelia and Arthur, waiting for their next response.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Arthur swung his head to face Amelia. "And how do you think your little Russian boyfriend will take this situation?"

Although she knew the comment was meant to irk her into action, to tell the president to step off, she just could not do it. Amelia was deeply stung by the cold words. "Well, I dunno," she replied, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper, "Ivan and I broke up a few months ago so…" She shrugged, looking unwaveringly at the floor.

Again, nobody spoke for a long moment as the American girl continued to look down at her shoes.

"Bollocks…I'm sorry, Amelia. I didn't know." His voice was so soft and gentle, as though he were afraid that she may break. Amelia had forgotten that he could sound like this, it was nice.

Clearing her voice and faking a smile, Amelia looked up to face Arthur. "It's all good, dude! Heroes don't dwell on things like that, so why should I?" She tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sigh of exhaustion.

The only sound to be heard was the ticking of the international time clocks on the wall. Even the ever-present New York traffic seemed to fade away for the moment.

"Why don't we leave it here for tonight," Roma suggested, his voice much quieter than before. "I know that this is a lot to ask, especially by springing it on you by surprise. I didn't expect an answer right away; you should both sleep on it. Just know that, should you accept, I have people who will work with you to make our little charade a success." He stood; ready to walk his stars out.

"I'm in." Amelia stated.

"You…what?" Arthur asked as the president and vice-president exchanged glances.

"If the company needs this publicity stunt so bad, then I'll do it." Amelia explained, slowly sinking into her chair. She really didn't mind the thought of pretending to be Arthur's love interest. If it meant that they could spend time together again, then it would be worth the heartbreak that was sure to follow.

"What?!" There was the irate tone again; there was the Arthur she knew so well. "Amelia, do you even know what you're agreeing to?" He looked to the president, "I do not agree to this."

Roma, stunned by the sudden outburst, simply nodded. The vice-president stepped in, "Neither of you need to accept or decline anything right now. As the president said, sleep on it and let us know your decision in the next few days."

Arthur and Amelia were walked out of the office and bid a goodnight by the company heads. "Goodnight, you two. We'll be in touch." Beilschmidt said, holding the door open for the pair.

"Yes," Roma agreed, "And welcome home, both of you!"

"Thank you, goodnight," Arthur said stiffly as Amelia smiled to the men and waved childishly.

As they walked down the hallway, Amelia could almost imagine that it was like the days when she and Arthur sang together in his band. But now there seemed to be a cloud of tension between them. Actually, there was usually some kind of tension between them, even when they were on good terms. The tension now just seemed to be growing somehow.

From behind there was the sound of the president's door quietly shutting.

"What are you trying to do, Amelia?" There it was, the tension that she had vaguely been aware of.

"What do you mean, Artie?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

"You know bloody well what I mean." Funny, he didn't sound really angry anymore, "And don't call me that." He sounded more tired than anything. Well, at least that was an improvement.

The girl shrugged, "I meant what I said, dude. No big mystery."

Arthur frowned, "You can't be serious."

Amelia twisted a lock of hair around her finger thoughtfully, letting it unfurl before re-winding it again. "I don't know what you think, Arthur. But, I don't hate you. Who knows, it might be fun to work together again." She smirked playfully at the wary Brit, "But that is now completely up to you."

The look on his face was priceless.

 **Welcome to the conclusion of chapter two, hopefully the summary is making a little more sense now.**

 **A big thank you to all who have Favorited or Followed, you're all wonderful! Also, I'd like to specially thank Willow Breeze the first and Buttery Toast Babe for their lovely comments. I hope the update didn't disappoint! I tried to keep a balance of healthy-awkwardness between Arthur and Amelia while keeping the scene realistic.**

 **Also, if anyone knows of a fandom human name for Germania I would be most appreciative! I know that he was never assigned an official name, but referring to him exclusively by VP or his last name is a bit odd.**

 **'Til next time!**

 **Published: 6/11/2016**

 **Word Count: 2,653**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

Arthur shook his head and turned away from the pert American, his cheeks ablaze. "Right," he mumbled, continuing to make his way back to the living quarters. He had hoped that Amelia would grow bored of following him and wander elsewhere. Unfortunately, the girl kept pace with him, humming an annoyingly bouncy tune as they walked along. "Is there any particular reason that you're following me?" He struggled against the urge to add "git" to the end of that sentence. After all, gentlemen did not make a habit out of insulting women—no matter how annoying.

"Duh, dude!" Amelia exclaimed, "I want to say hi to your bros! I haven't seen them in like, forever!" She grinned widely, never loosing step with Arthur.

"Brilliant," Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes. Of course he wouldn't be rid of the blonde that easily.

They came to the metal door that separated the living wing from the business wing of the building. Arthur began shuffling through his keys, not so elegantly searching for the correct one to unlock the door. Once he found the key that he was looking for, he inserted it into the keyhole and turned.

"Bugger!" he grumbled as the lock stuck tight. No matter which way he turned the key, the lock refused to turn over. "What the bloody hell?!" Arthur ripped the key from the lock and examined the piece of metal closely. Yes, this was the correct key, he was absolutely sure of it.

"Something wrong, Artie?" The American's voice sounded mildly concerned, but more bored than anything.

Arthur looked to Amelia who was now lazily leaning against the wall, raising an eyebrow at him. "My bloody key isn't working!" he huffed.

Amelia stood straight and walked over to the Brit and extended her hand, "Let me try."

Arthur tossed the key to her and crossed his arms "Be my guest."

The Yank easily caught the key in her hand. To Arthur's surprise, instead of forcing the key into the lock, the girl brought the key to her face, studying the handle with great intensity. "Bro, this is the old key. They changed the locks like, two years ago. Didn't security give you a new one?"

"O-of course not!" Arthur sputtered, yanking his cellular phone from his back pocket, angrily. "My brothers said that they'd take care of the details of checking in." He had been too preoccupied with catching a certain pop star's concert for such formalities—not that he'd ever admit that aloud. "Do you have a key?" he asked tentatively.

The girl shook her head, indicating negative. "Not on me. I was on tour so I left that stuff at home." Taking a breath, Arthur began punching contact icons on the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"What are you doing?" Amelia asked.

Arthur ignored the question, tapping his foot impatiently as the phone continued to ring. After the fifth or sixth ring the call went to voicemail. "Bollocks," he hissed, hanging up before the outgoing message could play. Selecting another contact, Arthur tried again and still again when the second and third calls were directed to voicemail. "Bunch of wankers!" He returned his phone to his back pocket; his brothers would pay for this, guaranteed.

Glancing to the American, Arthur had an idea. "Amelia, let me borrow your cellular."

Amelia looked slightly confused and then began looking for her phone, patting her hips and then looking down her cleavage.

"Bloody hell, Amelia!" Arthur yelled, heat gathering in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, averting his eyes as the American patted herself down.

"Hey!" she cried as a crimson flush pooled in her cheeks. "You try stowing your phone somewhere in a tight dress without pockets!" She hummed and thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah!" she snapped her fingers before leaning down and tugging something from her thigh-high boots. "Here you go!" she laughed, tossing it to the red-faced rock star.

Not ready, Arthur fumbled, clumsily trying to catch the handheld, getting a grip on it just before it tumbled to the floor. "Git!" Arthur chided, "Who throws their cell phone like that?"

Amelia laughed and shrugged off the rebuke. "Allistor is speed dial seven." She said knowingly.

Arthur huffed, selecting the number that Amelia had indicated. For what reason did Amelia need Allistor on speed dial? Heat grew in his chest as he waited for the phone to complete the dial. He was not jealous—definitely not.

One ring…two… Suddenly the call was accepted, though it was not the Scottish voice that Arthur had been expecting that answered. "Ame! How are ye—"

"Can it, Reiley, put Allistor on the line," Arthur snapped.

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the call. "Oi!" Arthur could hear his brother call out, assumingly to their other two brothers. "Allistor! Amelia called, but she sounds suspiciously like that English langer we left in New York!"

"You did what?!" Arthur bellowed into the phone. He could hear the phone being passed around.

"What do you want Artie?" An annoyed Scottish voice asked.

"Well, I _was_ going to have one of you wankers open the security door, outside of the living quarters for me, since you lot didn't get me the new key," Arthur growled. "But, as it appears that you all bloody left me here, I guess that's not going to happen!" The Brit was fuming. "And, tell me, why did none of my brothers answer my calls but Amelia's call gets answered on the second ring."

"Because she is actually fun to be around, you arse!" Arthur flinched and said nothing in response. He heard Allistor sigh, "Look, we'll be back in a few days, Mr. Vargas wanted us to accompany his grandsons to a photoshoot in Miami. He couldn't because he said he had some business to attend. Just call security and have them let you in. We'll see you soon, alright?" His voice was soft, well…soft-ish. That was as close to an apology as Arthur could hope for.

"Alright," Arthur agreed solemnly before hanging up the phone and passing it back to Amelia.

"So…are they coming?" The American asked expectantly.

"No." Arthur replied, taking his own phone and dialing the agency's security office. Once again, the phone rang and rang with no answer. Arthur left a brief message then disconnected the call. "Security isn't picking up." He sighed, running his hand over his face. It would be extremely difficult to find a hotel room at this hour, so lodging was a concern.

"That settles it." Amelia stated definitively, crossing her arms and nodding her head. "You'll just have to spend the night at my place, and then I can bring you back tomorrow with my key."

"I will do no such thing!" Arthur frowned.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Stop being so stubborn, Arthur! It wouldn't be cool of me to just leave you here overnight! Look, I have some extra rooms at my place; you can hide out in one of them until we come back tomorrow.

Sleeping in a bed did sound appealing to the jet-lagged man and he didn't know when security would respond to his call. "Alright," he conceded, too tired to put up a fight. "But just until tomorrow."

Amelia smirked, "Great! Follow me, Artie!" She skipped away energetically. Arthur face-palmed, he was already beginning to regret his decision.

He followed the American: through the halls; down a dark stairwell; and finally into the dank, private garage beneath the agency. It was cold. As Amelia walked into the poorly lit parking lot, Arthur heard the door to the agency click shut behind him. There was no turning back now.

"Sweet!" Amelia cheered, pumping her fist in the air, "Maddie remembered!"

"Remembered what?" Arthur asked, watching as his companion ran up to a large, black truck.

"Remembered to drop my baby off," The Yank answered, patting the hood of the double-cab truck. "She was taking care of her while I was away."

"Wait," Arthur said, skeptically. "You weren't even sure that your vehicle was down here?"

"Well," Amelia pulled a key out of her bra and began to unlock the vehicle. "We had planned to have her bring it, but I didn't have much time to talk to her. Once my plane landed, I gave her some of my things, and had to rush to the concert." She opened the door to the cab's backseat. "I just hope she left it here…" she mused, eyes resting on a worn duffle bag that had been carefully placed on the floor of the vehicle. "Yes! She is the best sister EVER!"

Arthur couldn't help but feel a bit amused as the American ripped the bag open and began rummaging through its contents. Pulling out a pair of dirty, white high-tops, Amelia quickly stripped herself of the tall, red boots before stuffing her feet into the trainers, tying the laces sloppily. Six-inch heels thrown onto the seat, Amelia was once again digging through the bag. This time, she pulled out something that brought back memories for the Brit: an old, brown, leather jacket.

"Well, if that isn't a sight for sore eyes," the rock star smirked as his companion pulled the garment on. How many fond memories did he have of the American running around in that very jacket? It had been much too large for the young girl, though now it looked as though it was only slightly too big. "I can't believe that you still have that dirty, old thing."

"Dude!" Amelia exclaimed, slamming the door shut, "It's not old and dirty! It's…classic!" She walked over to the passenger seat and bowed dramatically, "Your carriage, your majesty!"

Arthur clicked his tongue as he walked up to the vehicle. As he stepped into the cab, he took a playful swipe at the American's head, just managing to ruffle her hair a bit. "Git." As he buckled up, Amelia laughed and slammed the door closed.

Soon, Amelia seated herself and started the truck. Arthur was surprised to see that the interior of the truck was immaculate, though, he supposed, that was probably thanks to the pop star's Canadian twin.

There was very little small talk in the vehicle as Amelia left the agency and pulled onto the too-bright, New York streets. Though he had imagined the atmosphere to be awkward, it was actually quite nice: the hum of the motor; the comfortable, leather seat; the soft rock that was playing quietly over the radio. Arthur's eyes felt heavy as he watched shadows in the street flee from the truck's headlights. Amelia yawned, eyes staying fixed on the road.

"You mind if we make a quick coffee stop?" she asked after a few minutes, glancing over to the Brit once they were stopped at a red light.

"Not at all," Arthur sighed, "I'm starting to fall asleep myself."

Amelia smiled and nodded. As the light turned, she pulled the vehicle off of the street and into the drive-thru of a coffee house on the corner. There was a car in front of them placing an order. As they waited, Amelia looked to Arthur, "One shot espresso or two?" The rock star raised an eyebrow, and the pop star laughed. "Three?"

Arthur couldn't tell if the American were joking or not. "I do want to sleep sometime tonight." He said, deadpan.

"Haha!" she laughed way too loudly. "Fine, dude. It's my treat, how about I order something for you? I bet I can order something that you'll like."

Well, this was interesting. "Oh? And, if I don't like it?" Arthur questioned, staring at the bright menu board dubiously.

"Then I'll switch from coffee to black tea for a month—no cream or sugar."

Arthur snapped his attention to the American. Although she was smirking, her eyes were quite serious. "The closest thing to tea that you drink is that over-sweetened rubbish from the south."

"Sweet tea is not rubbish!" Amelia protested, pouting.

"Well it certainly isn't tea," the Brit countered, watching as the American recoiled from his statement. A small smirk began to grow on his lips. "However," he mused, "you must be very confident to make such a wager. What happens if I actually do like what you order?"

The grin was immediately back on Amelia's face. "Then you have to at least think about accepting the president's proposal."

The smirk fell from Arthur's face. "Amelia…" he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I—"

"Before you say 'I can't,' I didn't say you had to accept it, just…think about it." Her eyes were shining in the light of the coffee house's logo. "Please?"

Those eyes, why did she have to use the puppy-dog pout? She reached out and took his hands into her smaller ones, gently squeezing them in her pleasantly tender grasp. Arthur sighed again, trying to look away from the blue eyes staring at him, silently pleading. "Alright!" he gave up, he was clearly defeated.

"Yeah!" Amelia cheered, releasing him and throwing her arms into the air. Not a trace of the signature pout remained on her face. Arthur rolled his eyes and yet, couldn't help but feel like his hands were suddenly cold, what the hell?

As the car in front of them completed their order, Amelia pulled some headphones from the truck's center console and inserted the wire into the truck's stereo. "Here," she said, passing the headset to Arthur, "listen to the radio; I want your drink to be a surprise!"

Arthur looked at her skeptically but said nothing before taking them and placing them over his ears. Once that was done, Amelia smiled and gave a thumbs-up before turning from the Brit and ordering. The headphones worked exceptionally well, Arthur couldn't hear anything but the random classic rock song that was currently playing over the radio.

Watching Amelia talk animatedly to the metal speaker, Arthur felt his chest tighten. It had been a long time since she had talked to him like that. Although tonight had been nice, cordial—perhaps even friendly—it didn't compare to when Amelia was truly herself. Right now she was smiling and talking enthusiastically, all over ordering a few cups of coffee with a perfect stranger. Why did this upset him so much? She was the one who had made her choice in leaving the band—leaving him.

It was a moment before Arthur realized that Amelia was motioning for him to take off the headphones. "I think you're gonna like it!" she sang, happily.

It didn't take too long to pull up to the drive-thru window, and get their drinks from the barista, a young man whose mouth dropped when he saw who his customers were. The boy, a teenager, couldn't seem to speak properly, stumbling over his words like an obsessed fangirl as Amelia paid for the coffee. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the barista was utterly star struck—typical Amelia.

"Thanks, bro!" she called as she waved and drove away from the window. She turned to Arthur, smiling. In her hands she held a tray with two cups. One was a frozen coffee, topped in whipped cream and caramel, while the other was hard to discern as it appeared to be a plain, hot coffee. Arthur prayed that his was the latter—if not, then Amelia had already lost the wager.

Luckily, she handed him the plain cup of coffee. "Tell me what you think!" She smiled at him expectantly.

Silently, Arthur took the cup and slowly brought it to his lips, a bit apprehensive of the first taste. He sniffed the steam emanating from the cup wearily and his eyes widened in surprise, it wasn't coffee at all. Sipping the hot liquid, Arthur found himself smiling before he could control his expression. "Earl Grey and Lavender," he marveled.

Amelia nodded enthusiastically, "That's right! With cream and a bit of honey." She was obviously proud of herself.

Arthur couldn't believe it; she had actually remembered one of his favorite drinks: a lavender cream earl grey. "Thank you, Amelia," he murmured, it was truly touching that the American had remembered—even if it was something as trivial as a favorite tea.

"Does that mean that you'll consider the President's bargain?" There was a hint of excitement in her voice.

Arthur nodded slightly, "We did have a bargain," he conceded and quickly continued before the American could get overly excited. "But, I'm not promising anything."

Amelia sipped her sugary monstrosity that she called coffee. "Fair enough," she approved with a smile.

About an hour later they arrived at Amelia's house. Arthur felt sure that he had begun to doze a few times on the way and was grateful to finally reach the destination. Amelia quickly jumped from the truck and hurried to unlock the door.

A few lights were on inside of the house and a television set could be heard at a low volume. Amelia looked at Arthur curiously before following the sound to the living room where the pair discovered an interesting sight. On the sofa was a girl who looked all but identical to Amelia fast asleep, a plush polar bear cradled in her arms.

Turning off the television, Amelia walked over to her sister. "She must've wanted to surprise me, but ended up falling asleep," the Yank reasoned aloud.

"And for good reason," Arthur muttered, looking at the clock on his cell phone. "It's almost three-thirty."

Amelia stroked a strand of hair from her twin's face before gently shaking the girl's shoulder. "Maddie, wake up."

Sleepy, violet eyes fluttered open. "Welcome home!" she cheered in a whisper, still half-asleep but a small smile playing on her face.

Amelia wrapped her arms around the girl in a crushing hug, "Thanks! You didn't have to wait up though!"

"I didn't really," the other girl laughed, "but, I tried." Madeline's eyes rested on the British man awkwardly watching the sisterly exchange. "Arthur?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and gently detangling herself from her sister.

"Hello, my dear," Arthur smiled.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Amelia said, guiding her sister off of the couch and toward a staircase a little ways away. Arthur followed until Amelia pointed to the room right next to Madeline's room. "That guest room should be ready," the American mused. "The bathroom is right across the hall," she pointed, "and my room is on the other side of Maddie's." She smiled, "There are towels and extra toothbrushes in the bathroom and there are pajamas that should fit you in your room." She looked to the floor, then back up and smiled. "Sweet dreams, Arthur." Then, with a wave and a wink, she led the other girl into the room next door.

Walking into the spare room, Arthur walked directly to the bureau and began his search for sleepwear. He found them quite easily, choosing a pair of pastel blue sweatpants with a matching top and a pair of boxer shorts before going across the hall to shower.

The water was scalding hot—as hot as he could take without actually melting his skin off, just how he liked it. It was relaxing, or it should have been. Between the water and the lightly scented soap, Arthur should have been content. Instead, he found that he was haunted by thoughts of a certain American. Mere hours ago he had been more than content to watch his former protégée from a far distance and suddenly he found himself showering in her loo and sleeping in her house. Seeing glimpses of her on the news or in the magazines had been enough to satisfy any impulse the rock star had felt to see the girl. Now, she consumed his thoughts.

How had he forgotten the way that she smiled at any little thing, no matter how trifling? How had he forgotten how her eyes crinkled when she laughed? The way that she perpetually smelt of coffee and sweets? The way her touch never failed to make his heart skip a beat?

There was tightness in Arthur's chest. She had a boyfriend. No, wait…she said that she and the Russian were no longer together? Why did the pressure in his breast lighten at that thought?

He shook his head and held his breath as he rinsed off under steaming water. Don't think about her; don't think about that stupid Yank! She's not your little sister anymore…

 _Who says you want a little sister?_

Shut up. Who says I want that woman at all?

 _Why can't you stop thinking about her?_

I can so!

 _Liar…_

Shutting off the water, Arthur stepped out of the shower. Drying off, he dressed and began brushing his teeth, fighting the thoughts of the American and the president's proposal. He scrubbed so hard that his gums began to bleed.

Finishing up in the loo, Arthur rushed back into his room and shut the door. As if that would quell the thoughts that were running through his all-too-tired mind. Amelia had said that working together could be fun…what had she meant by that?!

Turning out the light, Arthur burrowed deep under the covers of the soft bed. This did nothing to aid the escape from his thoughts. What if, what if, what if..?

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur found himself texting an incredibly short message to the president, the glare from his phone as bright as the sun on his face.

Arthur: I'm in.

Before he could hit "send" the last shreds of his sanity stopped him. What had he been about to do? Arthur continued to stare at the short, damning message that he had _almost_ sent. "Bloody hell…" he muttered, amazed at his impulsive action.

He rested his head on a pillow and continued to read the message again and again. He would touch the screen periodically to keep it from timing out. Finally, reading the message one final time, Arthur allowed himself to slip into a deep—if troubled sleep.

So deep was his almost instantaneous slumber, Arthur did not even hear the bedroom door open or the heavy footfalls that led into the room. The intruder glanced at the sleeping Brit for a moment, watching as his breathing evened out and sleep overcame him.

"Oh, mon petit lapin," a certain Frenchman murmured, stifling a laugh as he took the phone from the unconscious man's hand. He smiled when he saw that it was still unlocked.

Quickly reading the short message, Francis clicked his tongue in disdain. "When left to your own devices, you cannot even do this simple thing?" He ruffled the younger man's damp hair gently, if only he were always this cute and defenseless while awake! "Amelia has her work cut out for her, non? But, never fear, Big Brother Francis is here to give you a small…push in the right direction…"

Placing the phone back on the pillow, the Francis gently took the Brit's hand. Stopping momentarily at the sound of the Brit's breath hitching. Waiting for him to fall back into a deep sleep, the Frenchman brought the tip of Arthur's fingers to the dimly illuminated cellular screen. He hesitated for a moment, should he really do this? Shrugging, Francis moved the sleeping man's hand to the "send" button and watched as the message was processed. "C'est la vie," he murmured, placing Arthur's hand on the screen of the phone.

Eyes resting at the Brit's face, Francis smirked, "You'll thank me for this later."

Suddenly, Francis' own phone buzzed, and the Frenchman answered it in one fluid motion. "Salut, Monsieur Vargas," he murmured quietly, "you received 'Arthur's' confirmation text, I presume?" He turned from the sleeping man and walked toward the door. "Bien!" he twisted the doorknob. "Non, non, I have a spare key to Ame's house, so finding them was no trouble." A moment of silence. "Oui everything is going according to plan, I shall begin Phase Two tomorrow." He glanced once more at the sleeping Brit. "Bien, I will keep you updated…" He closed the door and Arthur's dreams suddenly took a dark turn.

 **You've completed Chapter Three of my addled, caffeine driven tale. Thank you!**

 **Sorry for all of the filler, but I hope that you've enjoyed the ride! This chapter was an ABSOLUTE BEAST to write. Though, I hope it didn't disappoint-at least not too badly anyway! ;) This, in addition to being the hardest chapter (thus far) to write is also the longest (yikes!)**

 **I'll also write a key for the Kirkland brothers' names below. I know that they are mostly Fannon characters so I simply chose the fan-given names that I felt worked best-but I may or may not change my decisions... XD**

 **Scotland: Allistor**

 **Northern Ireland: Reiley**

 **Wales: Dylan**

 **Thank you to everyone who Read, Favorited, and/or Followed, it really means a lot to me! I'd also like to specifically thank decoris, settingitoff, and Chello for taking the time to comment and offer suggestions, you are all amazing!**

 **As always, feel free to comment or send a private message to let me know what you think-or if you just want to chat.**

 **'Til Next Time!**

 **Published 12/11/2016**

 **Word Count: 4,033**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

A shriek woke Amelia the next morning.

Jumping out of bed and grabbing the wooden baseball bat that she kept near her bed, she raced out of her room and down the stairs. There was the sound of more shouting, though now it seemed vaguely familiar…

Sliding to a halt in the kitchen, Amelia blinked a few times. Was this for real? There was Arthur, wagging an accusatory finger at…Francis? Amelia rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. Yup, Arthur was bickering at the handsome Frenchman who was holding his hands up in a show of surrender—not that it slowed the Brit's tirade. Then again, it probably wasn't helping that Francis was laughing his ass off and calling Arthur "Mon Lapin," a nickname that Amelia still didn't understand…

"What the hell is going on?!" Amelia yelled over the two men's squabbling.

Arthur whipped his head around and quickly quieted, a blush rising on his cheeks. Francis on the other hand, smiled and waved before lowering his arms. "Good morning, Chère. Did you have a good sleep?" His smile faltered momentarily. "Why do you have a bat?"

"'Cause I thought I was gonna have to beat someone," Amelia yawned, slinging her weapon over her shoulder. "And yes, I did sleep well, until someone woke me up!" She glared at Francis and then to Arthur, who still was refusing to look at her. Rude.

"Well, I was yelling at the French bastard here, because he apparently spent the night out on the sofa AFTER letting himself into the house!"

"Mon Lapin," Francis drawled, "as I was trying to explain earlier," his hand went to his pocket and held a tiny piece of metal aloft, "Amelia gave me a key."

"You wot?" The voice was emotionless, but by the intonation Amelia had to guess that Arthur was not amused.

"Yeah, Francis crashes here frequently, so I gave him a key." Amelia rolled her eyes. "And isn't it, like, 'improper' not to look at someone when you're talking to them?"

Sighing, Arthur turned to face the American, face rosy. "Fine," he muttered before clearing his throat. "Amelia," Their eyes locked together, "PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

Amelia looked down at herself and fought the heat rising in her cheeks. Whilst jumping out of bed to defend her house from a perceived invader, she'd forgotten that she had gone to bed in only panties and a long, baggy, superhero-themed t-shirt. Oops…

Refusing to appear embarrassed, Amelia looked up and smirked. "My house my rules, Dude!"

Just before Arthur could retort, a small voice called out from within the kitchen, "Pancakes are almost ready," Amelia looked past the two men to see her sister patiently pouring batter into a hot skillet. The blue-eyed sister felt bad for a moment, she hadn't even noticed her twin! "Arthur," Maddie called, "Amelia has some Breakfast tea, if you'd like some."

The American's blood ran cold. Maddie, NO, she screamed inwardly. She shot a nasty look to her twin, how could she?!

"Amelia doesn't drink tea," Arthur said slowly, turning to look at the Canadian sister.

"Oh she buys it, just in case—"

"I'm gonna go get dressed," Amelia announced loudly, practically shouting and stopping her sister from finishing her sentence. She turned on her heel and raced back up the stairs, her feet pounding loudly with each step.

When she finally reached her room, Amelia shut the door and leaned against it for good measure. Damn it. For years, she had been buying tea. You know, for the off chance that Arthur would come and visit. She would always get his favorites: Breakfast tea, Earl Grey, or Yorkshire Gold. And every time, about a week after purchasing the tea, she would get anxious just having it in the house, as though she were harboring something incredibly taboo. It was at times like these that she would visit her sister and smuggle the tea into the Canadian's pantry in secret.

Amelia had often wondered how her sister never questioned the reason that her cupboard never seemed to be short on tea. Apparently, it was because she had figured the American out but had let the neurotic behavior slide—until today anyway… Jeez, maybe she shouldn't have told her sister about the president's little matchmaking scheme.

She dressed quickly, lest the company downstairs be allowed to mingle unsupervised. Old, blue jeans; white crop top; and red, high top converse were carelessly selected and pulled on. Just one more thing…

Slung on the foot of her bed, Amelia located her bomber jacket. Picking up the heavy leather, the blonde fished through its inner pockets until she pulled out a small hoop. It was constructed of cheap metal, bent and worn. Atop the loop was a flat, metal teddy bear. Smiling, the pop star hesitated a moment before putting the ring on her right, middle finger. It could usually be found on her hand or on a chain around her neck. The only time that she wasn't wearing the childish piece of jewelry was when she was onstage—according to Francis it killed the "ensembles" that he worked so hard to put together.

Leaving her room, Amelia fiddled with the ring. It was hard not to think about the history behind the trinket. Downstairs, things were quiet. A little too quiet for the Americans comfort, she hastened down the steps.

"Yo," she yelled, "where are you guys?" She came to an empty kitchen. The scent of pancakes lingered and she couldn't smell anything burning. Well, at least Arthur wasn't gonna burn her house down in an attempt to cook, which was lucky.

Walking towards the dining room, Amelia heard her sister's soft voice. "We're in here, Amè!" Maddie was one of the only people who called her that. It was nice.

In the dining room, Amelia saw that her sister was awkwardly seated across from a smirking Frenchman and a sullen-looking Brit. The only thing separating the surly pair from her sister were the multiple, different bottles of maple syrup that covered a good part of the table. However, that wasn't pressing at the moment. Most important was the stack of pancakes and glass of milk that was waiting for her next to Maddie. Seating herself next to her twin, Amelia reached for the maple syrup and was about to dig into her breakfast when Arthur broke the silence.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night, Amelia."

Looking up from her plate for only a moment, the American flashed the rock star a smile. "Sure thing, Artie." It was funny to watch the subtle shiver run through the man as he cringed at the nickname.

He cleared his throat instead of snapping at the name. "Amelia, I was wondering," Arthur started. Amelia began cutting into the pancakes before her, still listening though only vaguely. "Why did you have extra male pajamas in your guest room?"

Amelia stopped and put her fork down, sighing. "Well, I had a certain guest crash here one night," she glared at Francis. "Then, the next morning, I forgot he was here, walked into the guest room and…saw things…" She frowned. "I bought extra pajamas shortly after that."

"I was wearing _your_ pajamas?!" Arthur turned to the blond sitting beside him; his expression was something between horror and disgust.

Francis waved his hand dismissively, "Non, non, I sleep in pure silk or nothing at all!"

"And that's how he got banished to sleeping in the basement." Amelia concluded, finally taking a bite of her pancakes. Glancing at Arthur, Amelia found that his expression mirrored her own that fateful morning—there were simply some things that you could not unsee.

"Mon mignon, you are too cruel," Francis pouted dramatically, placing a hand on his face. "Was my crime fitting of such a punishment?"

Amelia felt her eye twitch. "No, Francis." She agreed, pointing her fork at him. "But patting the empty space beside you and saying, 'There is room for one more, ma chère,' is." She imitated an awful French accent, but it got the point across.

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten about that," the Frenchman conceded, "But in my defense, I was half asleep."

Both Maddie and Arthur's eyes were wide as they gaped, glancing back and forth between the pair, slack-jawed. Amelia would have laughed if scarring memories had not been dug up. Instead she took another bite of her pancakes, determined to finish them before they got soggy.

After a few minutes of silence, Maddie cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. "Um…so, what brought you here, Big Brother?" she asked, looking at Francis. The title mildly surprised Amelia, Arthur had been her "big brother" in the agency and Francis had originally been Maddie's, she had thought that neither of them used those titles anymore. She's probably trying to smooth over the awkwardness, Amelia decided, still eating her breakfast.

Francis nodded vigorously, "Merci, Madeline, I had almost forgotten!" He turned to Arthur, "The president got your text last night and simply insisted that I come to assist you right away!"

Amelia had never seen Arthur blanch so quickly. Taking a sip of her milk, she watched the scene unfold in front of her. Something told her that things were about to get interesting.

"W-what are you talking about, Frog?" There was a bite in his words. Yup, Arthur was flustered. The question was, why?

"Your text to the president, Lapin. The one agreeing to date our precious, little Amelia…"

"WHAT?!" Arthur bellowed, standing abruptly. Amelia choked on, and quickly swallowed, a mouthful of pancakes.

"What did you do?" She asked, looking at Arthur, eyes wide. He wouldn't have, never in a million years; he was far too proud—too stubborn. Looking at him, Arthur was just as surprised as she was—obviously he hadn't messaged the prez.

"I-I didn't do anything of the sort!" His retort was sharp but he seemed slightly unsure. Without bothering to excuse himself, Arthur left the table and sprinted up the stairs.

He returned shortly, cellular in hand, incredulous expression etched on his face. "I can't believe it," he muttered, as though in awe and shock, staring at the screen of his phone. "What the hell..?"

"See, it is as I said," Francis nodded, "and I am here to coach you!"

"No way in Hell!" Amelia and Arthur yelled together.

Francis merely laughed. "Kick and scream all you like mes amies, but it is unlikely that the president will allow our self-proclaimed gentleman to go back on his word, non?" His eyes had an oddly serious glint, it made Amelia uneasy.

"Well," she beamed at Arthur, "looks like we're gonna be getting really close, Artie!"

"Arthur!" the Brit corrected forcefully, slamming his phone down and glaring at Francis. "I can't help but feel as though you had a hand in this, you bleeding frog!"

"Moi?" Francis asked innocently, placing a hand to his cheek.

"Yes!" Arthur roared, before turning to Amelia. "Aren't you going to say anything?!" His green eyes flashed as he regarded the American girl.

Amelia noticed how a light blush had settled into the Englishman's cheeks and how his body was taut, as though he were prepared to fight. She had seen it many times when he had fought with his brothers; Amelia wondered if Arthur was suppressing an urge to deck Francis. Taking a moment to think, Amelia smirked.

"Sorry, Arthur. As I said last night, I don't hate you and I think that this whole thing could be a lot of fun." She shrugged widely. "Besides, you were the one who sent the message to the prez. I always knew you'd fall for me someday!" she stuck out her tongue and winked coyly.

It was hilarious to see the rock star sputter and attempt to deflect the accusation. Of course he hadn't fallen for her, how could he? He was one of the most uptight people that she knew. It would never work out—it was just fun to be able to tease the man again. As she watched, and only half-listened to the angry Brits retorts, Amelia felt a warm flutter of nostalgia. She couldn't stop smiling.

"Quit grinning like a barmy git and be serious for a moment, Amelia!" Arthur scowled, Amelia laughed.

"There must be something that can be done," Maddie murmured, desperately trying to calm the situation. She glanced at Francis, "They got back really late last night. Even if Arthur sent that message, surely the president can't expect him to honor an agreement made while half asleep, via text?"

"But, he does," Francis nodded. Immediately, the repartee between Arthur and Amelia cooled and they stared at the strangely serious Frenchman. "In fact," Francis continued, "until they go out and are seen in public together, the president says that you are both banned from the agency's premises." Amelia glanced at Arthur, though now his face was stony and unreadable. "He wants photographic proof," Francis sang.

Arthur growled and doubled his fists before sighing and releasing his hands. "Fine, I'll do it." He muttered. Amelia shot him one of her brightest smiles, could this really be happening?! Arthur did not so much as glance in the American's direction. "It's true, a gentleman always honors his word." He shook his head. "But I don't have to like it."

* * *

"Why do I have to wear a dress?" Amelia pouted, running her hands over the skirt of the powder pink dress she currently found herself trapped in. She glanced to Arthur who was seated beside her in the back of Francis' car. Why hadn't he had to change? He was still wearing the outfit from the night before, what was so wrong with her clothes?

"Because you must look your best, Chère. The 'girl-next-door' look is much cuter than t-shirts and… _old, blue jeans_!" Francis didn't even try to hide his disdain for the American's sense of style. Amelia rolled her eyes at the musician-turned-fashion designer. "None of your sass, Amelia," the Frenchman chided, looking at her in his rearview mirror. "Now, you both remember the plan, oui?"

"What plan, Frog?" Arthur asked sourly. "We're just going to get ice cream." Amelia couldn't help but feel pride at this. Normally, Arthur would refuse to even "touch the stuff" and yet she had won the game of rock-paper-scissors they had played to choose their outing. Good thing too, if Artie had won, she would've been drinking tea very shortly.

There was a tired sigh from the driver's seat as Francis slowly parked his vehicle beside a city sidewalk. "You are not simply getting a frozen confectionary, Arthur. You are acting! Acting cute; acting lovey-dovey; acting—"

"Acting like we give a damn about your lectures?" Amelia asked, pressing her hands to the cab window, peering around at the commercial beach side city that Francis had chosen for their first "date". It was upscale for sure, but not nearly as bustling as New York City.

She could hear Arthur chortle behind her as Francis carried on, apparently choosing to ignore her comment. "Acting like a couple in love." Amelia turned to face the Frenchman only to meet his expectedly frustrated face. "Do you think you can manage that?" He looked between the two musicians.

"Of course." Arthur answered haughtily, crossing his arms.

"Good. Amè…?" Francis turned to Amelia.

"Frank…" she countered.

The Frenchman gave a sharp gasp before closing his eyes and shaking his head violently. "Amelia!"

"Francis!" Amelia mocked; she was starting to enjoy herself. This was vengeance for making her wear a dress and then locking her in a car that was playing French show tunes for the past hour. It was a bonus that Arthur was doubled over laughing next to her, it egged her on.

"Watch your language!" the Frenchman implored. His usual suave demeanor severely ruffled by the nickname.

"Open the door, Frank!" Amelia cried, smirking all the while. She began to pull on the door latch repeatedly to no avail. At the start of the trip, Francis had activated the child locks, effectively locking the unlikely couple in the car. "Open, open, open!" She had to be careful; with her strength she could easily rip the handle right off. She just wanted to annoy the blond man, not replace his car.

"Mon Dieu!" Francis exclaimed, getting out of the driver's seat, walking around to the right-rear passenger door, and releasing the imprisoned American.

Amelia jumped out of the car and took a deep breath of the cold, slightly salty air. "Freedom!" she breathed, looking up to the sky and feeling the warmth of the sun on her face.

"Amelia," the girl turned to see Francis letting Arthur out of the car. "You still must promise to be a good girl and do your best, oui?"

Amelia watched as the Brit exited the car and smiled warmly. "No problem, dude!" she gave a thumbs-up. "Now that I'm free, I'll do whatever you want, Francey-pants!" She saluted using her thumb, index and middle fingers.

Francis' eye visibly twitched. Then he sighed and waved them away. "Just go, be free. I'll have a car pick you up in two hours." The pair watched their companion get into his car and speed away.

"Frank?" Arthur asked when they were finally alone.

Amelia met his green eyes and smirked. "I've been saving that one for when he really made me mad!" Arthur chuckled and Amelia's chest felt warm. It was always nice to see the usually stuffy man actually laugh and smile—she liked it so much that she didn't mind playing the fool. As long as she was the one to make him laugh or smile, she would play the part. "So," she thought aloud, "I think the ice cream parlor is just up this street. Shall we?"

Arthur extended a hand to the girl, "Of course, let's go."

The warmth in her chest grew as Amelia's heart began to flutter as she took the Brit's hand. His hand was much larger than her own. His fingers were slightly rough from playing guitar for so many years. She looked to Arthur's face and he blushed slightly. "Don't get any ideas," he said, turning his face from her. "It's just acting, you know, for when the bloody press gets their picture."

"Totally, dude." Amelia agreed, noting that the rock star's soft voice did not fit his cold rationale. Whether or not he was forced to be nice to her, it felt good.

Walking up to the parlor, hand-in-hand, Arthur opened the door for Amelia as they continued to act like a happy couple. The eatery was mostly empty with just a few other patrons, mostly parents and grandparents with young children. A man behind the counter welcomed his new customers and invited them to view the selection of ice cream flavors available.

Arthur chose a scoop of vanilla in a cup while Amelia chose a bright blue and pink scoop on a cone. As Amelia went to pay for the treats, the Englishman waved her off. "Go, find somewhere to sit, I'll join you shortly."

Amelia nodded, turning to survey their options. It was actually a nice day, maybe out on the patio? Exiting the establishment, Amelia took a seat at one of the tables and waited for Arthur to follow, she didn't have to wait long.

"What on God's earth is this?" the Brit asked, coming up to the table and passing Amelia her garishly colored sweet.

The American simply licked the treat and smiled. "Bubble gum ice cream."

Arthur's face was deadpan. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," Amelia quipped, licking the ice cream.

"Well, good," he said, sitting and tasting his own frozen treat, "because that's exactly what you're going to have if you keep eating oddities like that."

"Harsh!" Amelia feigned injury from his words, and then smirked. "Try some," she pushed the treat into the Brit's face.

"No, Amelia." He turned from the blue and pink mess before him.

"Dare you." Amelia challenged, "Unless, you're scared…"

Arthur turned back toward Amelia and regarded the ice cream that was beginning to melt. Amelia could almost see him mentally weighing his options. Quickly, as though before he thought better of his actions, Arthur licked the confection. "BLOODY HELL!" Amelia burst out laughing, sure that the whole block could hear their exchange. "That is nothing but pure sugar and food dye! How can you stand that?!"

Amelia was laughing so hard that she couldn't catch her breath; the look on his face was one of instant regret. She watched as Arthur took a bite of his own ice cream in an attempt to be rid of the overly sweet taste. "Dude, it's not that bad!" she managed, calming down and gasping for air.

"You have no idea," her companion muttered.

A silence befell the pair: one trying to forgive the miserable experience, the other still biting back laughter whenever she looked at her "date".

Then Amelia had an idea. "We should totally take a picture together!" she exclaimed, holding the cone with one hand while the other searched for her phone in her handbag.

"Isn't that what the agency's photographer is supposed to do?" grumbled Arthur, stirring the melted contents of his ice cream around in his paper bowl. "Wouldn't taking another one be a bit, redundant?"

"No, dude, it'll be fun!" Amelia smiled, victoriously brandishing her phone in the air. She rounded the table and sat next to the Brit. "Hold this," she said handing her ice cream cone to Arthur who took it, but looked as though he had been handed a live grenade. Amelia chuckled under her breath as she readied her phone's camera. She leaned into the rock star, resting her head on his shoulder. "Smile!" she said as she held the camera aloft and snapped a picture.

Looking at the picture, Amelia smirked. "Perfect!" She looked cheerful and Arthur looked begrudgingly happy—it was all that she could've hoped for.

Then she heard a dull SPLAT. Turning, she saw Arthur was holding a now empty cone and was looking down at a techni-colored mess on the pavement.

"Aww…it fell?" she asked, though the answer was apparent.

"I wish I could say that I was sorry," Arthur said dryly. Amelia thought she could see a ghost of a smile play on his face.

"Bummer," she said before putting her phone on the table and taking Arthur's cup of melted cream from him. "You done?" she asked, knowing the answer. She knelt down to put as much of the spilt treat into the bowl, took the cone from Arthur, and looked around for a waste bin. Seeing one at the corner, she flashed a smile to Arthur, "Be back in a sec!"

"Amelia," she heard him call after her as she sprinted away, "be careful, it would be inconvenient if you were to trip and break your leg!"

She laughed, "Thanks for the thought, Artie, but I'm good! See?" she made it to the corner and shot the trash into the bin. "Two points!" she cheered and turned to Arthur.

The Brit rolled his eyes and began collecting the pop star's bag, "Where would you like to go next?" he inquired.

Amelia shrugged, "Why don't we just explore? I think there were some cute shops right over—" As she turned and started forward, she ran right into a person who was turning the corner. Amelia fell to the ground with a dull thud, nothing hurt except her pride.

"I am so sorry," a vaguely familiar male voice said from somewhere above her, "Are you alright?" Amelia could felt the stranger kneeling down next to her; she blinked and tried to look up, slightly dazed. She felt like she'd walked right into a brick wall!

"Yeah, dude! It's all good! I'm sorry, I should've—" Her blue eyes met violet ones, all too familiar violet ones. Her heart clenched violently. No, no, not him, not him. Anyone but him! Once again, she couldn't breathe, this time; however, it was not because of mirth.

"Podsolnechnik?" He asked in amazement.

Damn it.

"Hi, Ivan…"

 **The end of this chapter is very similar to the end of the first. Ah well, at least this is pretty much the last of the set up.**

 ***Podsolnechnik - Sunflower**

 **My apologies, while editing the names of the Kirkland Brothers last week (Thanks, Willow Breeze the first for bringing an error to my attention, you're awesome!), I accidentally deleted the entire third chapter. FML. I'm really sorry for any notifications that the story had been updated when, in reality, I was just being a clutz! Forgive me? XD**

 **Thank you all who have Read, Favorited, and/or Followed, I appreciate your attention and hope that the chapter didn't disappoint! Also, a special thanks to: BrownieTheFangirl and AwesomeMapleLeaves, for reviewing. You're the best!**

 **As always, I love hearing from everyone on this site so feel free to comment or PM me to let me know what you think (or if you want to chat).**

 **'Till Next Time!**

 **Published 20/11/2016**

 **Word Count: 4,033**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

The man kneeling before Amelia was unmistakable. Large build, ashen blonde hair, tan scarf: although Arthur had never met the man personally, he knew that this was Ivan Braginsky. Ivan Braginsky, the world renowned Russian ballet dancer and consultant for many of the agency's live show productions. Ivan Braginsky, Amelia's ex.

Hastening to the American's side, Arthur couldn't help but note the way the girl was staring at the man before her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as though shocked to see him. Why was the expression on her face so annoying?

"Are you alright, Amelia?" Arthur called, coming to the corner.

Before the girl could respond, Ivan leaned towards the girl, placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently pressed his lips to hers. Arthur slowed and came to a halt right behind the American as his heart clenched violently. He could hear blood pounding in his ears as she did not immediately push the Russian away, could she still love him? Impossible! And yet…

After a few moments, the kiss ended. Braginsky smiled, "It's been a long time, Amelia." It was a casual statement, far too casual after such a greeting.

Amelia didn't seem to know how to respond. "Um, yeah, it has," she murmured. Her eyes were still wide from the kiss. She blinked a few times, looking up to the man kneeling on one knee before her.

Arthur could feel every fiber in his body bristle. "Ahem," he cleared his throat pointedly, sharply extending a hand to the American who was still collapsed on the sidewalk. "Let me help you up." Though he was speaking to the pop star, Arthur's glare never left Braginsky. With any luck, the Russian would be able to feel every curse the Brit was reciting mentally.

"Thanks," Amelia murmured, accepting Arthur's hand. Glancing to the girl, the rocker noted the obvious. There was no goofy smile on the American's face; in fact there was no twinkle in her eyes either. The usually cheerfully baby blues were guarded and her lips were pressed into a grim line.

Looking back to Braginsky, Arthur was surprised to see that he was currently the subject of interest for the Russian. His blood ran cold. Although the dancer's eyes were calm and his mouth bent into an easy smile, it felt as though waves of malice were rolling from him and toward the Englishman. Arthur did not flinch, like bloody hell he'd permit himself to be intimidated by another man; and certainly not by this man in particular.

"Well, it was nice to see you Ivan," Amelia smiled as she quickly dusted off her dress, apparently recovered from the unexpected meeting. However, the Brit noted that the smile didn't seem to reach her eyes. "But we've gotta get going," She hadn't let go of Arthur's hand. Actually, at the moment, the American's grip was almost bone crushing. Amelia tugged Arthur along, passed Ivan, and waved. "Bye!"

As he allowed himself to be towed away by the American, Arthur felt sure that he could feel the daggers of Ivan's cold eyes slicing into his back.

As soon as they were down the street and had turned a corner, the Brit barely heard the girl hiss, "Hold on." Then, the pop star began to run at top speed: whipping around corners; down a few streets; and across an alleyway. Arthur struggled to stay on his feet as the girl pulled him behind her. Amelia's strength and speed were amazing, likely capable of rivaling that of most intensely trained athletes.

"Amelia, stop!" Arthur commanded after a few minutes, tiring of being dragged across town. Gradually the girl slowed her pace and the couple ended up in the middle of a quaint park. "What just happened?" Arthur demanded trying to catch his breath.

The American was only panting lightly as she looked at Arthur. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I didn't expect to see him here."

"That's all well and good, but why the devil did he kiss you, Amelia?! Isn't he your ex?" Arthur could taste the bite in his words, but was too frustrated to care at the moment. Was she with the bloody Russian or wasn't she? If not, was she still in love with Ivan? The thought did not sit well with the gentleman. If she still loved him, then didn't that make Arthur the rebound?! Arthur glared at the American, waiting for answers.

Amelia folded her arms and shrugged. "He does that to everybody…well, everybody who he considers his friend anyway. I think it's some kind of Russian greeting or something—I dunno… It doesn't mean anything." At that, Arthur raised a brow. If that were true, it would mean that the Russian was as bad as the Frog. A terrifying thought. "And yes," Amelia continued, "He is my ex-boyfriend. Actually, this was the first time we've spoken since we broke up."

Arthur knew that there was something that the girl was not telling him but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Here, take your hand bag." He thrust the purse towards the girl; he had been holding it since Amelia bumped into Braginsky.

Nodding her thanks, Amelia took the purse, walked toward one of the park's picnic tables, and sat down. Seating himself beside her, Arthur took out his phone and began to dial. After a brief conversation, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked up at the sky.

"So, what's the plan?" Looking to the blonde, Arthur saw that Amelia had her eyes fixed on her hands, now folded in her lap. He assumed she had been speaking to him. "I called the agency and am having the car sent here now. The driver was, thankfully, nearby and should be here soon to pick us up shortly."

"Cool, thanks dude." Her voice, usually so bright, sounded hollow. Looking at the American, Arthur saw that she was furiously fiddling with the teddy bear ring, pushing it round and round her middle finger with her thumb. He's seen her do so earlier, must be a nervous habit.

"So," Arthur started, unable to tolerate the strained silence anymore, "I've never seen anyone run as fast as you did today. Well, except perhaps Feliciano Vargas when he's afraid." He smiled at his attempt at a joke and rubbed his neck self-consciously.

Mercifully, Amelia gave an amused huff. "Heh, yeah…" she kept twisting the ring around. "I just—wasn't ready for that, ya know? Once I snapped out of it, all I could think about was putting some distance between the two of us."

Her words were like gunshots to the gentleman's psyche, it all seemed too familiar. After she had fought to separate from the band, they didn't see each other for months. In all honesty, they hadn't really talked, well, until yesterday. Sure, there had been plenty of odd, unavoidable encounters: concerts, parties, those mandatory agency assemblies; but an accidental meeting of their eyes had always been the extent of their interaction. Then, they would both avert their eyes and pretend that the other didn't exist for the rest of the event. Had she ever run from him like that? He didn't really want to consider the probability.

Without thinking, Arthur rested a hand atop the girl's head. He couldn't come up with a single comforting thing to say, but somehow this gesture, long dormant, had resurfaced. It had always seemed to calm the girl when she had been his "Little Sister". But, that was a long time ago.

Amelia turned her face from him, forcing his hand to slide from her hair. The action stung. Perhaps she _was_ still in love with the Russian. Arthur gave his head a vigorous shake, what was he thinking? Who bloody cared if the Yank had feelings for that man? Who cared if she shied away from his touch? Certainly, not him. He did not care, not a bit. She wasn't his Little Sister, not anymore.

Sighing Arthur stood and looked about for the car but could find no sign that it was near. He turned to Amelia; she was still not facing him. That was just as well, the sooner that this whole charade was foiled, the sooner he could return to Britain, start writing new songs, and maybe have few drinks to forget about this entire adventure.

Amelia shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew through the park. Francis had absolutely refused to let the American wear her iconic bomber jacket—or any jacket for that matter; something about ruining the aesthetic of the thin, silk dress he had chosen for the girl. Arthur clicked his tongue and shrugged off his own leather jacket. Then he gingerly placed it on the girl's shoulders, smirking as she jumped slightly from the unexpected touch.

Looking from Arthur to the jacket and back to Arthur again, the pop star finally smiled. "Thanks, Artie," she said, pulling the jacket closer.

It was a relief to finally see a smirk that reached her eyes—a genuine smile. "I'm going to ignore the name, this time," Arthur sighed, though he could feel himself smirking. "I just can't have you catching cold on my watch."

Amelia giggled quietly, tilting her head toward the Brit, "What's a cold?"

The rock star shook his head once more, smiling in spite of himself. If her sense of humor was back, then she was going to be alright—not that he cared or anything.

There was a light honk to their right; the car had finally shown up. Standing, Arthur offered Amelia a hand and helped her off of the picnic table. Seeing her move to take off the jacket, Arthur planted his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Don't worry about it," taking his hands from her, he led the way to the car where the driver was holding the door open for them.

Once in the vehicle, the pop star rested against the seat and closed her eyes while Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket. He felt a twinge of pity for the American. The whole incident had left the girl looking very tired. Hell, the experience had left him exhausted, though it had been an incredibly brief encounter. Glancing at his mobile's screen, he saw that there was a message from Madeline.

Madeline: Hi, Arthur. I retrieved your luggage from the agency. Hope you and Amelia are having fun! :)

Arthur sighed and thought for a moment before going to type in his response.

Arthur: Thank you. Amelia ran into Ivan Braginsky and things went sour. We're on our way back.

Madeline: What?!

Before Arthur could respond, he received another text from the Canadian sister.

Madeline: Okay, I'll take care of things. See you soon

Arthur stared at the text and wondered what the she meant, but decided to wait till they made it back to the house to find out. Following the American's example, Arthur leant back and closed his eyes in order to clear his mind.

Already he was getting in too deep with Amelia; he shouldn't be getting so attached. And yet, against his will, he found himself worrying about the rowdy girl. Would he be able to hold his distance through this little charade? Hell, the charade! Did the company's photographer get the needed shot or had the photo op been spoilt as well? It might be a bit longer before he could return to the agency. Oh well. At least Madeline had been able to collect his things. If necessary he would be able to get a hotel room and stay there until this whole ordeal was dealt with.

As the drive continued in silence, Arthur felt Amelia lean close to him. Suddenly, a cool hand came to rest atop of his which lay on the middle seat of the cab. He kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep, however his heart was suddenly racing. "Sorry for the weirdness today," he could feel her soft breath against his ear, "you were really cool about everything."

She lingered there for a moment, as though waiting for a reply before seemingly deciding that the Brit was asleep. Arthur could feel the American shift back to her seat and prayed that the heat in his cheeks was not as apparent as it felt.

* * *

Returning to the house, Arthur "awakened" as the car pulled into the driveway. However, the whole ride he had been fighting the thoughts racing through his mind, all of which surrounded the unusually quiet pop star beside him.

As they walked up the path to the house, Arthur became aware of music being played loudly from within the house. It was bouncy, much like something he had heard before but couldn't quite place.

"Amelia!" Madeline called, swinging the door open with an uncharacteristically excited air. The Canadian stepped out on the porch and pulled her twin inside, winking at Arthur as she did. Now that the music was clearer, Arthur noticed that some of the words seemed to be in a foreign language. "I saw Mathia and Lukas at the agency today and they gave me an advanced copy of Norden's new album!" Ah, that's right, Arthur recalled, the music he was hearing was one of the popular, new singles from the Nordic's band.

Once in the house, Madeline twirled artfully and extended a hand to her sister. "Come on Amelia, dance with me!" She smiled. Arthur had to admit, though Madeline had supposedly gone into "retirement" from the music industry, her dance skills were still as sharp as ever.

"I dunno," Amelia muttered, eyeing her sister's hand skeptically. The Canadian grabbed her sister's hands forcefully, pulling her closer.

"For me?" She asked in a small, quivering voice. The girl clutched Amelia's hand in both of hers, violet eyes pleading and threatening tears if her sister refused her request.

Amelia sighed and then smiled as the song faded to an end. "Fine, one song."

The Canadian cheered quietly, "Yay!" Arthur would've laughed if the scene hadn't been so disturbing. He had always thought that Madeline was the sweet, innocent twin. Apparently, she had learnt more about persuasion from Francis than he had guessed—it was remarkable.

As the next track started to play, Amelia and Madeline took their positions; Madeline apparently taking Tino's role and Amelia dancing Mathia's. The song was more rock than the Brit expected from a supposed Euro pop group. As the beat grew, the twins' dancing became faster and their movements sharper, but they stayed perfectly in sync. Madeline's moves were more conservative and Amelia's more…provocative. Though that was likely because she was dancing like a certain Dane they all knew.

Arthur, leaning against the wall, noticed Francis stroll into the room, grocery bags in hand as he sauntered to the rhythm. "The girls seem to be having fun, oui?" he asked, moving toward the Brit in order to be heard over the music.

The rock star nodded, not looking away from the impromptu performance for a moment. The sparkle was back in the American's eyes as she bounced to the upbeat music, her usual grin was back as well. So this is what Madeline had meant by she'd take "care of things". The quiet twin certainly knew how to raise her sister's spirits.

There was an instrumental pause in the song and Arthur noticed Amelia coming towards him. "Come on, Arthur!"

He resisted, "No, no, you go on. I'm fine watching."

The American took his hands, "Oh, come on! It'll be fun!" Arthur looked to Francis for help, only to see Madeline pulling him into the dance as well. Reluctantly, Arthur found himself being towed once more by the bubbly girl.

As the song entered the final chorus, Amelia started bouncing to the music, keeping in step to the beat. It was very likely that she had learnt the dance steps directly from Mathia, as the Dane and Gilbert often hung around the American. However, the movements were so quick and erratic, Arthur did not attempt to copy the motions, preferring to stand idly and watch as the other three danced. Amelia and Madeline continued their perfectly choreographed routine while Francis tried to match their motions, with more elegance and none of the edge.

When the song ended, they all struck a pose: Madeline with a hand on her hip; Francis blowing a kiss toward the imagined audience; and Amelia taking the center—pointing to the sky.

"Party pooper, Arthur!" Amelia pouted, finally noticing that the Brit had not joined in on their fun. Arthur smirked at the American's put-out expression and watched as she marched up to him, raising herself on tiptoe to meet his face. "I will get you to dance one of these days!"

"Not like that, you won't," the rock star scoffed arrogantly, folding his arms.

"Come on, man! You're just as bad as Kiku!" Amelia too folded her arms and tossed her head.

"Well, at least I know that the photographer still has his dignity, despite hanging around you all the time," Arthur fired back, glad to see that the American was reverting back to her usual brash self.

Amelia stuck her tongue out at Arthur, and Francis gave a light laugh as he watched the interaction with delight. "Now, now, children," his eyes sparkled, as he retrieved the bags of groceries. "Big Brother Francis shall have dinner ready in an hour, so no more fighting!" He flipped his hair before eyeing the Brit and the American. "And you two, go clean up for dinner!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and Amelia gave a salute, "Yes, sir, Francey-pants!" Then, laughing, she ran up the stairs before the Frenchman could retort.

"I am happy to see that one in such high spirits," Francis said, smiling and shaking his head.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So, you heard about what happened?"

"Mais oui," the other man answered easily, making his way towards the kitchen. "Madeline kept me informed of your…situation…"

"Ah," Arthur nodded to the Canadian. "Thank you, Madeline. And thank you for retrieving my things from the agency. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"No, not at all," the girl waved him off. "Although," she smiled sheepishly, "the guards almost didn't let me into the building. They thought I was Amelia and banned from the premises. It was Mathia and Lukas who vouched for me."

"I'm so sorry, love." Arthur knew how annoying the violet-eyed twin found being mistaken for her loud sister. The poor thing had always lived in Amelia's shadow.

"No, no, it's fine! I'm used to it!" Madeline assured him, but only succeeded in making him feel worse. He was definitely going to have to make it up to the girl. "Anyway, I put your luggage in your room," she said, ascending the stairs, "I'm going to check on Amè."

As he watched the quiet girl walk away, Arthur shifted his eyes to the kitchen. Walking to the room, he found Francis preparing a variety of vegetables for dinner. "So, Frog," he started, folding his arms, "what do you know about Amelia and Braginsky?"

"Hmmm?" the Frenchman hummed. "Well, they were together for about two years, on and off as far as I'm aware…" He took a spoon and tasted something from one of the pots that was already simmering on the stove. "Though, if you want to know any more than that, you may as well consult the tabloids. I do not know much about their romance beyond the fact that there was one."

"I find that hard to believe," Arthur mused, moving closer to the stove to investigate what the Frog was cooking. "Aren't you supposed to be the 'Idol of Love' or some rubbish like that?"

"Oui," Francis agreed, focusing once again on chopping the produce. "But they are both very mysterious people, Amelia and Ivan alike. Amelia particularly holds such things close to her chest, non?" He looked up and gasped in horror. "Lapin! Get away from the stove, sil vous plait! It makes me nervous having you this close to food that is still in the process of being cooked!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but moved in order to keep the Frenchman talking. "And what of their breakup? That is of more interest to me than their—romance," he spat out the word with a great sense of loathing.

"Je ne sais pas." Francis shrugged. "That was one topic even the tabloids could not sniff out, though they made their wild theories." Looking up from his work, Francis smiled knowingly at Arthur, "Now answer my question, why do you care, Lapin? Surely, you do not care about Amelia's past romances..?"

"I-I don't!" Arthur crossed his arms, "it's just…given today's events; I believe that I have a right to know! That's all!"

Francis sighed, "Well, I cannot offer you answers that I do not have…" he hesitated for a moment, "however, I think I know why Monsieur Braginsky was in that little town—"

Before the Frenchman could continue there was a shriek from upstairs.

"NOOOOOOOO!" an American voice howled. "NO. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOO!"

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look. Neither of them particularly wanted to be the one to confront the seemingly irate American.

Finally, Francis walked out of the kitchen and called up the stairs. "Mon Chou, is everything alright?" Muffled voices drifted down from the second floor. Though indistinct, it sounded as though Madeline were trying to calm her sister. Then, there was silence. "Mes Filles?" Francis called once more. Arthur got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

There was the pounding of feet dashing down the stairs. "Arthur!" Amelia called, breathless, jumping down the last few steps and landing right in front of the Brit. "Have you seen it?!"

"Erm—seen what?"

Amelia slumped down to the floor and held her cellular phone up to him. "Kiku just emailed me. They _already_ have the proofs of the photo. It'll be on the cover of at least three magazines and featured in more than twelve, not to mention international publications…"

Confused, Arthur took the phone from the girl to get a better look at what she was talking about. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. Apparently, the agency's photographer had gotten the shot after all.

There was the pop star, on the ground; face flushed, eyes wide, pouting lips parted slightly. There was Ivan, inches from her face, smiling easily as he knelt before her on one knee. His hand placed on her shoulder as he moved closer to her lips. And then, there was Arthur; scowling at the scene, standing behind Amelia and looking quite…jealous…

Of all the shots to take, they took one right before the fateful kiss. Bloody Hell…

 **Yay, the end of another chapter! Now, for a few notes!**

 **We have seen a bit of Ivan and he will be back. That being said, the kiss… Before I get tons of people commenting or messaging about how OOC the action was (one of my greatest fears), I'd like to point out that he did try to kiss Germany once in the manga—it's cannon.**

 ***Norden, the name I chose for the Nordic's band. While some may see it as a nod to a certain ship (go ahead and ship away if you feel so inclined, I won't stop you), it actually translates to "The North" in Danish. Cool story, right? It seemed like a great play on words, so I rolled with it. I believe it is also the name of a Polish band, but I chose to ignore that fact ;3**

 **While on the topic of languages; many apologizes for my rusty French, it's been a while since I've had to use it and it isn't my first language.**

 **As always, Thank You to everyone who has Read, Favorited, and/or Followed this story. I love you all and I hope you found a bit of enjoyment while reading! And, and extra special Thank You to the Guest and DeiDeiArtistic for your wonderful reviews, they seriously mean a lot to me.**

 **Feel free to leave a comment or drop me a private message if you so desire. I love feedback and just chatting with you all, it is the best!**

' **Till Next Time!**

 **Published: 02/12/2016**

 **Word Count: 3,800**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

What was that?

Amelia wriggled, snuggling up closer to her pillow and willing that—whatever it was—to be quiet. She snarled in annoyance and squeezed her eyes closed as the somewhat familiar sound continued and grew louder.

"Amè," a soft voice called. Opening one eye, Amelia saw that she was actually cuddling close to the sleeping form of her sister, not a pillow as she had thought. They were laying together, forehead to forehead, arms tangled together. Why was Maddie sleeping with her? Amelia could feel the vague sense of anxiety from the night before, but could not recall why.

"Maddie?" Amelia questioned, her voice was thick with sleep. She moved to detangle herself from her sister and blinked to clear her vision.

Madeline, eyes still closed, sighed and pressed her face deeper into her pillow. "Your phone," she muttered, voice muffled, almost beyond understanding.

Oh… Amelia rolled over and reached for her phone on the bedside table, shooting a glance at her alarm clock. Nine o'clock on the dot. What the hell? Why was she so tired?

That's right! Last night, the picture! She hadn't been able to sleep until around five that morning. The image of the photo, that was currently gracing the covers of numerous magazines, had been etched into her brain and haunted her slumber. Her heart began to pound and her body felt unpleasantly tingly as she quickly sat up. The phone stopped ringing.

It was only because Maddie had come to her room that she had been lulled to sleep at all. Her twin had stroked her hair and reassured her that all would be well, things like: "It'll be okay," "At least they aren't posting a picture of the actual kiss," and "No, Amelia, you can't run away to live in Antarctica with the penguins." Smiling and shaking off the growing unease, Amelia leaned down and kissed her sister's head, just as the phone began to ring once more. She was so lucky that Maddie was her sister.

"Answer the damn phone." Madeline growled, lifting her head and finally opening her very tired, bloodshot eyes. Yup, Maddie made everything better!

The American chuckled. She pressed a hand to the back of her twin's head and ruffled her hair playfully as the Canadian plopped back down onto her pillow. "Yes, Ma'am!" Amelia saluted, stumbling out of bed and walking with the phone out into the hall. "Now, who the hell is calling at this time?" Glancing at the screen of her cell, Amelia frowned and answered the call.

"Kiku! What the crap, man?" She wandered into Maddie's deserted bedroom and jumped onto the bed before crossing her legs seriously. "I thought you were one of my besties! Then you go, take that picture, AND THEN give it to the Prez?! Not cool, dude!"

"Many apologies, Amelia-chan," the Japanese man responded over the phone, sounding slightly flustered. He was feeling guilty if he were using honorifics with her; she must have told him a million times to just call her "Amelia". "I never imagined that Vargas-san would choose that one. That's why I sent you the proofs last night, so you would not be surprised today." Amelia gritted her teeth, though she hated being mad at Kiku, she was still upset about that photo. She stayed silent. "Amelia-chan?"

"Yeah, I'm here." She muttered.

"I…I didn't call just to apologize."

"Of course you didn't," Amelia sighed sourly, running a hand through her tangled hair.

"Vargas-sama would like to see you and Arthur-kun today," Amelia could just make out other voices on the other side of the line, besides Kiku. He was probably with the overly energetic president as they spoke. "Would you be willing to come to the Beautiful World Opera House this afternoon at one o'clock?"

Amelia rolled her eyes. All she really wanted was more sleep, but… "Fine, tell the prez that we'll be there. I'll see you soon."

"Hai, take care, Amelia-chan." The line went dead and Amelia ended the call with a groan. Holding her head in her hands, the pop star wondered what the president could possibly want to talk about.

Leaving the room, Amelia checked her attire. Yup, she was wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt; Arthur wouldn't flip, at the very least. Stretching her sore muscles, Amelia began the descent down the stairs, unsure how she was going to tell the rock star about their newest appointment with Roma Vargas.

Reaching the bottom step, Amelia yawned and immediately choked. Smoke?! Why did her house smell like…Oh no! Damn it, Arthur!

For the second morning in a row, Amelia raced to the kitchen and came to a curious sight. Francis was standing on a chair, covering the smoke detector with a towel, desperately trying to keep the device from going off. Meanwhile, Arthur appeared to have thrown a window open and was furiously fanning billowing, black clouds from the kitchen. On the counter was the source of the smoke, a tray full of things that were charred beyond recognition.

"Je suis désolé," the Frenchman choked on the smoke, glancing at the American. "He was cooking before I was even awake."

"Stuff it, Frog!" Arthur growled, finally getting the smoldering mess under control. "The scones are just a bit over cooked!"

Ah… Amelia regarded the "scones" that were airing on the countertop. They honestly looked more like lumps of coal rather than anything remotely edible.

"At least the porridge seems to be alright." Arthur muttered, finally closing the window and returning to a pot that was simmering on the stove. It was pale and appeared gloppy as the Brit stirred the concoction. The American looked on, silently cursing her misfortune. She walked over to the coffee maker and began to prepare a strong brew. This was going to be a long day…

Francis looked a bit nauseated as he watched the rock star mix the goo. "Lapin, I refuse to eat any of _THAT_ …" he shook his head resolutely.

"Suit yourself," the Brit simpered. "I made it for the girls anyway."

Amelia cringed as she watched the fresh coffee cascade into the coffeepot. Arthur meant well, right? He couldn't know that every time he made someone eat his "cooking," he was forcing them to play a deadly game of Russian Roulette. Amelia glanced back over to the Brit's baked goods and shivered. Then again, maybe this was payback for not standing up to the President when this whole scheme began…

Unexpectedly, she felt weight leaning against her from behind. She turned to see Maddie resting a sleepy head on her shoulder. "I smelt coffee," the Canadian smiled.

"Is that all you can smell?" Amelia chuckled, her own nose still picking up the scent of scones en flambé, sans the alcohol or skill.

Maddie frowned, "Did you burn something?"

"No." the American bit back a smirk, "Arthur made breakfast."

Her twin's eyes grew round with horror. "Maple," She cursed quietly.

Soon, they were all sitting around the table: Arthur calmly eating his burnt fare; Francis crunching on cold cereal; and the North American Twins were staring at the "food" before them.

Amelia took a breath before sinking her teeth into the blackened pastry. The taste was worse than she remembered. None of the Kirkland brothers had the ability to cook, but Arthur's cuisine was the worst by far. She didn't know what it was that the Brit did in the kitchen, but it certainly could not be classified as cooking. Still, she couldn't bear to upset him. He had probably been up since the small hours of the morning, thinking about the photo just as she had been. However, he did not have anyone to comfort him; he had likely made breakfast as a way to occupy his time—no matter how awful the outcome may be.

"So let me get this straight," Arthur muttered. "The president wants to see us today, in a few hours, at the opera house?" The Amelia nodded, trying not to focus on the awful taste of the burnt scone she was currently chewing. "Any idea as to why?" the American shrugged.

"Actually," Francis pitched in, "I may know what this is about." He glanced at Amelia, "it may also explain what Monsieur Braginsky was doing so close to town yesterday."

Amelia's pulse quickened and she hoped that it didn't show on her face. "And?" she asked, encouraging the man to continue.

The Frenchman stirred his cereal thoughtfully. "There is a rumor going around that the president has enlisted his help in choreographing the Anniversary show this year: namely the concert at the grand finale. It is very likely that the president wants to talk to you both about your portions of the show, since neither of you were available to perform last year…" He paused momentarily before continuing, "In fact, it is also likely that Monsieur Braginsky will be tutoring both of you for your new routines, seeing as the show is coming up very quickly and neither of you even has a plan for your performances…"

Amelia took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. It made sense that the Prez would enlist him to help them; between dancing and skating, Ivan and his sisters were the most graceful artists in the agency.

"Bloody ballerina…" Arthur mumbled, rolling his eyes impressively.

"He's also a renowned figure skater," Amelia thought aloud, playing with the porridge in her bowl. Wait, did she actually say that out loud?! He's your ex, Amelia, YOUR EX! She fought the urge to slam her head onto the table as she felt the cold glare of green eyes boring into her. The singer had been trying so hard not to upset the man, only to praise her ex-boyfriend. She wanted to scream. Instead, she punished her thoughtlessness by shoveling the burnt porridge into her mouth, praying for a quick, tasteless death.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Arthur looked to Maddie, "So, Madeline, how are you liking breakfast?"

Amelia could hear her sister swallow hard as she attempted an "honest" smile. "It's delicious, Arthur," it was obviously a lie. Maddie could barely stomach the meal; her unusually high-pitched voice was a dead giveaway. The pop star also thought that she could see small tears beading at the corner of the Canadian's eyes. Arthur, however, did not seem to notice any of this.

"Wonderful, I am going to make some tea, would you like some?" the Brit smiled. Maddie nodded as she had already finished her coffee, likely in an attempt to wash away the lingering taste of burnt scones. They watched Arthur walk back into the kitchen.

"Mon ange, you are too kind!" Francis lamented, giving the girl a piteous look. "You do not have to eat that…that…garbage!"

"N-no, really, it isn't that bad!" the Canadian insisted, high pitch betraying her once more. Amelia rolled her eyes, switched her empty porridge bowl with her sister's full one, and then took the burnt scone from her sister's plate. "Amè, what are you doing?" Maddie asked.

Amelia tried not to wince as she bit into the scone, it tasted more like charcoal than anything. "You're too nice for your own good. Go get a bowl of cereal. I'll finish this and Arthur will never be the wiser." She took a bite of the porridge and almost cried out in disgust. Apparently, in an attempt to make it taste better, Maddie had tried to drown the tasteless, gunky mess with maple syrup. This only succeeded in making it a sticky, sickly-sweet, bland type of glop. How something could be both sickly-sweet and bland was a mystery to her.

The Canadian shook her head, "You don't like his cooking anymore than I do—"

"I can stand his 'cooking' better than you," Amelia frowned, taking a sip of her coffee. "And anyway, what are sisters for?" Besides, after her little slip up, she had to make it up to him, even if that meant finishing his disgusting food.

Maddie wrapped her arms around her twin's neck and pecked her cheek, "Thanks, Amè."

As she left the table, Amelia caught the Frenchman staring at her, smiling proudly. She, in return, gave him a smirk. "I can trust you to take care of my headstone inscription? You know, if I die eating this crap?" she asked, only half joking.

Francis laughed, "Oui." He glanced to the kitchen, listening to the happy voices floating from within before continuing, "You are a good sister, Amelia."

Amelia stared at the remainder of her "breakfast" with a grimace. "I know…" she forced, what she hoped was, a brave look. "That's because, I'm the hero…"

* * *

A few hours later Amelia and Arthur made it to the opera house, Francis and Madeline already mingling with friends. Quite a few of the BWTA's performers were there as well, all milling about the foyer and conversing, casually waiting for the auditions to begin. The American's skin prickled, was it her imagination or was everyone trying to sneak quick glances at her as she walked through the small crowds? No, it wasn't just her; they were staring at Arthur as well. Amelia felt her cheeks grow hot, they had obviously seen the photo and there was no telling what story the tabloids were making up.

"Amelia?" the pop star looked up; she had been lost in her own thoughts, imagining what people must be saying. She saw that Arthur had stopped and was staring at her, when had she fallen behind him? Amelia attempted a smile but it felt unnatural on her face as she gave the Brit a thumbs-up. She usually liked attention but this time…it was so embarrassing…

Arthur rolled his eyes and placed a hand on the girl's head. "Don't worry about what they think, it doesn't matter." Amelia tried not to shiver as his hand stroked down the side of her head and came to cup her cheek. She was forced to look up at him; this was Arthur, the Big Brother, smiling gently down at her. The American wanted to turn away but instead kept still, how long had it been since he'd been her brother? No, he wasn't her brother. Not anymore. So…what exactly was this?

"Arthur, Amelia!" a loud voice called. Turning, Amelia caught sight of the ever jovial president loping towards the pair, Kiku Honda following behind. "How are you two doing?" the grandfatherly man asked, pulling the musicians into a tight bear hug. "Have you seen the photo?"

"Yes, unfortunately we have!" Arthur spat.

"Great!" the Italian man cheered, smiling hugely. "You two really outdid yourselves with that shot! But what should I have expected from Arthur Kirkland and Amelia Jones?!" He released the pair, unperceptive of the tension growing in the air. "Come," he motioned for them to follow, and waved Kiku off. "I'd like to talk in private."

Stealing a glance to Arthur, Amelia saw that the Brit had narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Following his lead, the American steeled herself, preparing for whatever the president may throw their way. Though, she fought the urge to smile, it was almost was like the good, old days: Arthur and herself fighting on the same side. She walked shoulder to shoulder with the rock star, trying to ignore the curious glances of the other performers as they passed.

It felt right, walking side by side, as equals—as allies. Back then, he had always seemed so great, like a star in the sky—always out of reach; he had always made her feel safe. Even now, after all of this time and all the change, just being near the Brit was comforting. If she had been able to close her eyes and allow herself to go back five years, Amelia could almost imagine that Arthur was her beloved Big Brother and she, the adored Little Sister. Almost.

Following the president through the double doors and into the auditorium, it took a few moments for the girl's eyes to adjust to the dim light within. Surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-surprisingly, Amelia immediately saw that Ivan was waiting inside, leaning against the wall lazily as he watched the small group. Her heart skipped a beat and electricity coursed through her body. Hadn't she been prepared? She had known that Ivan's presence had been a distinct possibility, given the infamous photo and the president's erratic personality. However, just seeing him again filled her with conflicting feelings she'd rather forget for the moment.

As their eyes met, Ivan stood straight. His easy smile slipping onto his face and masking whatever thoughts were running through his mind. Amelia wished she could copy the flawless masquerade, but found that she could only stare in silence.

"Hello, Podsolnechnik, long time no see" the Russian smiled at Amelia before turning toward Arthur. "And you must be Arthur Kirkland," he extended a hand toward the Brit, "we did not have the pleasure of meeting properly yesterday, da?" He closed his eyes and smirked.

Arthur stared at the hand before ignoring it and turning to Roma Vargas, "What is this all about, President?" He folded his arms, demanding answers.

The president smiled and gestured to Ivan fluidly. "Mr. Braginsky is here to help choreograph the BWTA's Anniversary show and—"

The door to the auditorium opened and closed once again. Amelia turned to see a man with brown hair, a blue coat, and a white jabot come into the auditorium, clutching a mountain of papers to his chest. Roma looked up and smiled at the man. "This is Mr. Roderich Edelstein; he is in charge of running this year's show."

Roderich joined the group and regarded Arthur and Amelia, looking them up and down with a raised brow. "Are these two the ones you wanted me to meet, President?" he asked, his voice laced in an Austrian accent. The American shuffled uneasily, she didn't know what to think of the man, but she definitely didn't like being scrutinized by the strange man.

"Indeed!" Vargas nodded, "This is Arthur Kirkland, lead vocalist for The Beasts of Britannica," he presented the Brit as though showing off a prized pet. "And this," the president swerved and put an arm around Amelia, "is Amelia Jones, Pop Princess of the USA." The president grabbed his chin and smiled in self-adoration, "They are some of the brightest stars in my empire."

Once again, Roderich raised an eyebrow before nodding his head, "Charmed, I'm sure…" The American thought that the man sounded dubious. "Have you talked to them about the parts that you want them to perform?" He asked, turning to Vargas.

"I was just about to," the Italian man nodded, turning his attention to the musicians. "I want you both to team up, Amelia and the Beasts, and collaborate on the Grand Finale of our show."

"No way!" Amelia jumped with excitement, "That's totally awesome, dude!"

"It is a tempting offer," Arthur conceded. Of course it was, the Anniversary show was the biggest event of the year for the agency—bigger than Christmas or New Years. Being offered the Grand Finale slot was the highest honor that the artists could hope to achieve. It was basically recognition as the agency's top talent. Even though he would have to share the stage with her, Amelia knew that Arthur really would want to perform at the celebration. "Does this have anything in connection to your little scheme, President?"

"Of course it does," Mr. Vargas confirmed simply. "It will be the coup de grace of my plan." He snaked an arm around Arthur, his other still around Amelia. "After the photo with Ivan, here, how could I not roll with the tragic love triangle angle you both so beautifully arranged?!"

"WHAT?!" Amelia and Arthur screamed. Amelia shot a glance over to Ivan. He was no longer smiling pleasantly; his face was still a mask—unreadable. However, she had known the man for years and she could see specters of thought shifting darkly in his deep violet eyes.

"You can't be serious!" Arthur bellowed, ripping the president's arm from around his body. "There is no way, in all the nine circles of Hell that we orchestrated that photo!" He spun around to face the Italian man. "And furthermore, I do not appreciate your using such a photo!"

"Really?" the Austrian asked in what sounded like mock surprise. Amelia, having almost forgotten that the man was present, turned toward him. "Because it says here," Roderich held a tabloid to his face, "that you two are former band mates who separated due to the 'growing sexual tension between them.'"

"WHAT?!" the pair screamed once more in unison. It was worse than she had imagined—mostly because Amelia had refused to let herself imagine such a possibility.

"Well, yes," Roderich sighed idly, "It is all in here," he shoved the magazine towards Arthur flippantly. "There are other stories in the other magazines, but they all essentially say the same thing."

Roma Vargas released Amelia and flung himself at the Austrian man, much to Roderich's chagrin. "Roddy! You do care! You read the story!"

Roderich huffed and tried to distance himself from the affectionate Italian. "I was only reading _that_ in order to research these two."

Arthur flipped through the magazine, his face growing very red. "Oh yes," Roma snapped his fingers in recollection. "I almost forgot!" He released the brunet man and turned to the young musicians once more. "In addition to starring as our show's final act, you will both be required to attend classes to help you keep up the illusion of your romance."

"Why? And taught by who?" Amelia asked hotly. The Brit seemed too shocked at the moment to voice his thoughts. He was still reading the article and appeared to regret doing so more and more with every passing moment.

Roma held up his index finger, "One, because you will both need help at keeping our little plan in action. The romance must continue until the Anniversary Show." He held up a second finger, "And two, your instructors will include your fellow Stars here at the agency: Francis, Antonio, and, of course, Ivan."

At that moment, Arthur dropped the tabloid and Amelia couldn't find words to speak. Shyly glancing over to Ivan, Amelia was surprised to see that his expression was no longer a mask of calm. Ever so faintly, his brow was furrowed; his eyes were piercing daggers at the president; while his mouth was pursed into a tight line. He was angry—no doubt about it.

"Don't bother protesting, Children" Roma Vargas said even before Amelia, Arthur, or Ivan could catch their breath. "It has been decided. Now, to business!" He clapped his hands and Roderich rolled his eyes, handing the dramatic man the stack of papers that he had been carrying. Roma flipped through them quickly and handed a small stack to all three of the performers. "Here are the details that you all need to know for our plan to be a success. Amelia and Arthur, it includes notes for your lessons as well as the information you need on what is expected for the Grand Finale. Ivan, yours contains lessons plans as well as choreography ideas for the show. Though, of course, you are free to do as you feel is best."

The Russian glanced through the papers and grimaced. "I am not liking these plans, President Vargas. But, I am willing to humor you—for a while…" There was a dark glint in Ivan's eyes—a type of childish sadism.

"Excellent, anything else?" The president did not wait for anyone to speak before continuing. "Good, I will see you all soon. Roderich, I believe we have a lot to discuss," He vacated the area, pulling the Austrian along with him, to begin the auditions for the Anniversary Show.

"Now wait just a moment!" Arthur protested, taking off after the president, looking murderous.

Watching the others leave the room, Amelia turned to Ivan. Not knowing what to say, she shot him a small smile. He hadn't seemed to have changed at all in the past few months, it was hard to believe that their relationship had.

"I do not like what I'm being pulled into, these stupid shenanigans, Amelia," he growled, crossing his arms.

Amelia winced, her name sounded so harsh in his Russian accent. "Well, it is kinda your fault for kissing me yesterday," she muttered. "It isn't really something that friends do here—and especially not—"

"Ex-boyfriends?" Ivan finished her sentence.

"Yeah…" Amelia rubbed her arm self-consciously and looked down at the floor. "Not that you care, but," She looked up and met his gaze, "I am sorry that you got roped into this; it's no picnic for me either, Vanya." The nickname seemed to make the Russian drop his guard slightly.

Ivan nodded and sighed. "Tell Arthur that training begins tomorrow at eight sharp. Bring warm clothes." With that, he turned to leave.

As Amelia watched Ivan go, she couldn't help but wonder if she were watching a friend or an enemy walk away from her.

 **Welcome back everyone, and to all the new readers, welcome! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story so far.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has Followed, Favorited, or has just read this story: it makes me really happy!**

 **Apologies, but I will not be attempting accents in this fiction. I am neither good at writing them nor have the courage to try. I will choose diction that I feel would suit specific characters and try to incorporate their native tongue into their speech, but I won't get crazy in punctuation or be subbing out letters in certain words. You can imagine the accents if you so wish, I just suck at writing them. XD**

 **Also, MILD SPOILER ALERT: I will not be painting Ivan as the villain in this story. If that is what you were hoping for, then this may not be the fic for you. *makes small shooing gestures with hands* I view him as someone who may be unintentionally cruel because he is unsure/was not taught how to properly socialize. It's always sad (for me) when he gets typecast as the villain just because…he's Russia…**

 **I love receiving comments for the story and PMs from all of you. So feel free to do so, if you are thus inclined. No need to be shy, I can't bite via the internet. ;3**

' **Til Next Time!**

 **Published 16/12/2016**

 **Word Count: 4,191**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

After trying in vain to talk to the president, Arthur had given up the chase and returned to the auditorium, only to find Amelia exactly where he had left her. She was still standing near the entrance that the President had pulled them through and was staring at the doors, apparently lost in thought. There was no sign of the Russian, though it was plain that he had said something to the American.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something and then quickly closed it again when he realized that he had nothing to say. Question the pop star as to what Braginsky had said? Not likely! That would be as bad as asking her about the nature of their former relationship. And anyway, it wasn't like he cared enough to really know. This whole plot was just that; a plot to pacify the president and eventually move on from this little game of his, none of this was real. None of this is real.

A moment later, Amelia seemed to realize his presence and turned to face him. There it was again, that empty smile that didn't seem to reach the girl's eyes. It really was an eerie sight, if the Brit didn't know better; he might have bought the grin. However, he knew her well enough to know that there was no warmth in that smile, no sparkle in her eyes, it was just an illusion.

The lights on stage began to flicker as unseen stagehands were performing the routine fixture checks. Roma Vargas' loud voice could be heard behind the scenes, barking orders, the rehearsals were about to begin. Without a word, the pair silently made their way out of the auditorium and up to one of the boxes above to watch the tryouts.

The acts were all good, though some more than others but that was the Beautiful World Agency for you. The president accepted nothing short of excellence. They watched a ballet number that Arthur felt sure had been performed by Ivan's sisters and a K-Pop routine by a new artist by the name of Im Yong Soo. Still the American's face betrayed no emotion—her eyes seemed to be looking somewhere far away.

After what seemed like an eternity, the rock star couldn't take the blondes silence anymore. "So…what did you think of that act?"

"It was fine." Her voice was deadpan.

She wasn't even paying attention. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's salsa had been brilliant—though a small piece of Arthur died just to acknowledge such a fact. Before he could continue to question the girl, the curtain behind them was thrust open.

"There you are!" Francis placed a hand at the back of Arthur's seat and leaned over the pair. "Madeline and I have been looking all over for you!" Arthur could feel his eye beginning to twitch as he turned to face the Frenchman.

"What do you want, Frog?" he asked, both annoyed to see the man and relieved that he was no longer alone with the sulky teen.

"We should be going soon; I hear that you both have an early morning lesson with Monsieur Braginsky tomorrow."

"We what?!" Arthur whirled around to look at Amelia who too had turned to regard the blond Frenchman.

"Huh?" She blinked a few times as though trying to process the information that had been relayed. Then, she grinned and put a hand to the back of her head in a sheepish manner, "Oh, yeah!" the light was returning to her eyes. "I guess I forgot to tell ya, Artie! Sorry!"

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms irritably. Internally, he sighed in relief that the girl seemed to be returning to normal. Perhaps the Frog was good for something after all…

Francis shook his head, "What am I to do with you, Chere?" Sighing, he stood straight and motioned the musician's to follow. "Come, we shall leave, have an early dinner, and send you both off to bed." He put a hand to his chin. "I have not had the chance to thoroughly clean the kitchen; it is still a disaster zone after this morning—"

"Oi!" Arthur snapped, following the blond man from the theatre box. "What do you mean, 'after this morning'?!"

The Frenchman ignored the comment and continued to mutter to himself, "It would seem that we will be going out for dinner tonight…" He glanced over to Amelia, "We are not getting McDonalds!"

"Aw, what?!" the American cried and tossed her head. "Boo! Kill joy! Who died and made you King?"

"Now, now," Francis tut-tutted, "Big Brother Francis knows what is best for you!" He looked over his shoulder to wink at the two following him. "I love you both so, so much!"

Arthur smacked the back of the arrogant man's head as Francis turned around. He smirked when he heard the resulting whine of pain. The Brit wasn't sure what was worse: having to get in-between Amelia and her ex-lover or having to listen to the Frenchman prattle.

* * *

"Where the Hell is he?" Arthur hissed, looking around the ice rink. "You said eight o' clock sharp, right? It's almost eight-thirty!"

Amelia shrugged, both hands clasped to the side of the rink for support. "He is here somewhere. Ivan hates when people are late; he's probably testing us or something… Damn, it's cold!"

The rock star rolled his eyes. Amelia was dressed for the dead of winter in her heavy jacket, fluffy scarf, leather gloves, and knit cap with a giant, pink pompom on the top—at somewhere between 10 and 15.5 c, there was no reason for her to be so cold.

The ice rink that they had been told to meet at was a small, local rink that was not too far from Amelia's house. When they had arrived, it was apparent that the managers knew Amelia—she had probably frequented the place when she and the Russian where an item, not that it mattered of course. Surprisingly, the rink was completely empty.

"Ah!" the American gave a small yip, breaking the Brit from his thoughts, before slipping spectacularly and falling to the ice. Apparently, all of that winter gear was severely hampering the girl's skating ability. Though Arthur could remember Amelia and Madeline zipping around the ice rink when they were younger, it seemed to be a battle for the pop star to simply keep her balance.

"Here," Arthur muttered, extending a hand to the fallen girl as he helped her to her feet. Honestly, the girl was graceless.

Amelia took his hand gratefully, though she grimaced when the sound of soft laughter floated over to them. Snapping her gaze to just beyond the Brit, Amelia scowled. "Ivan! It's nice of you to finally show up, Dude!"

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Arthur saw the Russian skating over, an amused look on his face. "Yes," Braginsky agreed lightly, either not hearing the annoyance in Amelia's voice or else ignoring it. "My sisters could not make it today, so I had to find last-minute substitute to help me." He smirked at Amelia, "It is looking like I will be needing help to teach you both, da?"

"Shaddup!" The girl glared at the skater as she released Arthur from her death grip and tried to steady herself on the ice. After a moment of imbalance and a few seconds of flailing her arms, Amelia once more fell on the ice.

"Why so clumsy, Podsolnechnik?" He offered her a hand this time, why did Arthur have the sudden urge to slap the other man's hand away? Fight it, who cares if Amelia accepts help from him. It doesn't matter.

Amelia refused the hand, attempting to stand on her own. "Why don't you go help Arthur get started?" the pop star suggested, her voice strained.

The Russian nodded amicably and turned to Arthur. "Alright Mr. Kirkland, where should we start?" Arthur raised an eyebrow to the man, how the hell was he to know where to begin? Braginsky nodded as though reading the Brit's thoughts. "Okay, skate a lap. Let me see what I am to be working with."

Arthur stared at the larger man for a moment before complying with the command. With one last glance to Amelia, Arthur skated away, gaining speed as he slid around the perimeter of the rink. It was simple enough, soon he began his return to where the pop idol and the dancer awaited. The American had made it back onto her feet and was brushing ice from the back of her trousers, while the Russian appeared to be smiling and teasing the girl lightly. Frowning, Arthur completed the loop and came to a stop right between Amelia and Ivan. "Well?" he questioned. Had the Russian even been watching him or had it been a ruse to get the girl alone?

Ivan's violet eyes slipped to him. "Very good, I was expecting you to fall shortly after you started," The skater smiled though Arthur narrowed his eyes at the backhanded compliment. "However," Ivan began, looking serious, "you are too stiff. As you skate, I could almost hear your brain counting the strides: 'left, right, left, right…'" He shook his head, "Your movements must be more flowing; currently you move like tin soldier. Also," the Brit mentally recoiled, there was more?! "You must lift your eyes from the ice. Keeping your head down the whole time—is not good. In skating, the skater must feel the moves and not over think them. Otherwise, whole routines become…flat."

"Okay…" Arthur muttered. His skin felt hot and prickly after the criticism.

Ivan nodded, "Now, let's see your spins!"

The Brit felt his heart drop. "Spins?" he asked skeptically, "I don't know any spins." He crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

"Hmm, no? Well, I guess you'll just have to learn." Ivan skated to the center of the rink. "I'll give you an easy one, a basic two foot spin." He pressed the tip of his left skate to the ice, tilting his right foot slightly before gently pushing with his left leg and returning it next to the right. The result was a slow, but graceful, demonstration spin. "You try."

Arthur tried to copy the Russian's footwork. Toe down, push off…his skate seemed to snag on the ice—BAM! His face met frost. Without thought, Arthur spat out every curse he could remember.

"Why are we skating anyway?!" the Brit snarled, looking up to his amused instructor. "Is this really supposed to help with the president's publicity stunt?!" He got to his feet, brushing the frost from his jacket and frowning.

Ivan tapped his chin in contemplation. "Well, it is supposed to help with how you both interact with each other, I think…" he smiled calmly, it sent shivers down Arthur's spine. "But, the ice skating was my idea. If you prefer, we could do ballet instead. Of course," he paused, looking the Englishman up and down, "then I would have to have you change into tights and ballet slippers."

Arthur fought the urge to shudder; he could feel the other man's eyes going over his body, sizing him up. No way in hell was he going to dress in tights, especially around other men, but he would not allow himself to be frightened by the Russian either. Tossing his head, the rock star skated away toward the area that Amelia had been practicing. "Skating is fine," he muttered. Though his back was to the skater, Arthur knew that Braginsky was the type of man who would be smirking over some perceived victory—wanker.

The American was doing better at staying on her feet, it appeared, and even seemed to be practicing the spin that Ivan had just demonstrated. "Hey, Artie!" she waved, though Arthur had to wonder whether she was waving to greet him or to help keep her balance.

"Arthur" he corrected, moving to stand next to her, "and, what is it?" he asked, looking from the girl's wobbly feet to her smiling face.

"I think I can do the spin!" she looked up. "Wanna see?!" she asked, her eyes flickering between Arthur and Ivan, who had just skated over to join his pupils.

"Er, sure," the Brit agreed. Braginsky nodded his head.

Amelia took a breath. "Okay, here I go!" She positioned her left foot and kicked off with her right. However, instead of her skates making a tight spin on the ice, they moved from their position and she skated the smallest circle imaginable. "What do you think?!"

Arthur was stunned. "That wasn't a bloody spin!" he shook his head. As a team, they were doomed. The American stuck out her tongue at the Brit and then looked to Braginsky.

"The truth?" the Russian inquired.

"Yeah," the American nodded.

"Is terrible." Ivan confirmed. "Try again. And, this time, do not move your stationary skate."

"Aw man!" Amelia groaned but returned to the pose; left foot immobile, tip of the right skate touching the ice. But before the girl even moved to propel into a spin, her left foot shifted from its stationary position and she fell backwards onto the ice. She lay on the ice, dazed and looking up at the ceiling with her legs splayed in the air.

Ivan skated closer, not saying a word as he took one of the pop star's skates in his gloved hand and examined it closely.

Arthur frantically knelt down on the ice, feeling sharp, wet shards dig into his knees. "Amelia," he called, he could feel anxiety fluttering in his chest, "are you alright?" He moved his hand under her head. Yes, he could feel a small bump already rising on the back of her skull.

"Ouch!" the girl winced, "Yeah, I'm okay, but that hurts Artie!"

Sighing, the Brit smiled, "It's Arthur, you twit." He continued to kneel down so that she could use his hand as a pillow.

"Amelia," Ivan snapped, the pop star turned her head slightly to look past Arthur to the skater. Even the rock star could hear a change in the man's voice; normally soft and gentle, it now sounded as hard and unforgiving as the ice beneath their feet. "These skates are no good for you. They are too big around the ankles and the blades are dull as spoons." Arthur looked up at the man whose frosty countenance matched that of his voice. "Where are _your_ skates?"

"Uh…" Amelia mumbled, tugging her foot out of the Russian's grasp so she could attempt a more dignified position. "I dunno, the lockers?" She sat up and waved her hands dismissively. "But these are fine, no biggy."

"Yes, biggy." Ivan corrected, "It is too dangerous to use skates that do not fit properly. I do not know why you—" His eyes widened as though having made some sort of realization. Shaking his head and placing one hand to his temple, the Russian sighed tiredly. "Podsolnechnik, you know that you can use the skates I gave you, even though we are broken up, da? These old practice skates should really be retired." Amelia looked down to the ice, though Arthur could still see the traces of a blush on her cheeks and a defiant pout playing on her lips. Ivan could, apparently, see it too. He sighed once again, this time the Brit thought it sounded just a tad bit sad. "Fine, make me play the bad guy." He put his hands to his hips, "Amelia Jones, you are to go put on some acceptable skates or I will ban you from this rink and tell the president that you refused to participate in this lesson."

Amelia snapped her head up and glared at the Russian. Begrudgingly, Arthur was impressed; Ivan Braginsky could actually hold his own against the stubborn Yank and that was a feat in itself. Finally, the pop star rolled her eyes and stood, taking the Russian's hand. "Whatever, I'll be right back…" She allowed Ivan to help her to the edge of the rink before stomping off.

"You have your work cut out for you with that one," Arthur could hear the Russian mutter quietly. Though the Russian was still looking at the door to the rink, with his back to him, Arthur knew that he was the one that the skater was speaking to.

The door clicked closed behind Amelia and snapped the Brit from his thoughts. He quickly stood. The way that they, Ivan and Amelia interacted…it wasn't normal… He couldn't place a finger on it. They both seemed to be fairly cordial with one another, though Amelia seemed to clam up around her ex. But then, Ivan appeared to still care for the troublesome girl. Why else would he have insisted on her changing into safer skates? Was it just because he was responsible for their lessons? Perhaps, though that didn't quite fit either.

"Anyway," Ivan skated back toward the center of the rink, "While we wait for her, let us continue with your spins." He turned and waited for Arthur expectantly.

Arthur followed him silently, still pondering the nature of Ivan and Amelia's relationship. It wasn't clear, there were too many variables. "Braginsky," Arthur regretted calling that name the moment it was out of his mouth.

"Da?" the Russian acknowledged, still waiting for Arthur to continue practicing.

Well, there was no going back now. "What happened between you and Amelia?"

"Ah?" For once the Russian looked shocked. "What happened between Amelia and myself?" he repeated as though unsure he heard correctly. The Brit nodded, confirming the question and feeling like an idiot in doing so. "Hmm…" Ivan hummed, apparently thinking over possible responses. "What has Podsolnechnik told you?"

The rock star could feel his cheeks redden. "She…hasn't…" he explained lamely.

"I see," the skater nodded "Well, I do not see why it is some big secret. There is nothing bad…" The Brit felt hopeful, answers were within his grasp! "But, if Podsolnechnik prefers to keep such things private, then I will respect that…" Bloody Hell…

"Right…" Arthur muttered under his breath, it figured that getting answers would not be that easy…

"Right," Ivan agreed cheerfully. "And now, for your spin."

Arthur sighed as he placed one foot solidly on the ice and the other tilted slightly to one side. Pushing off and placing the foot next to the other, Arthur was pleasantly surprised when his face did not meet with the chilled floor. In fact, he was slowly rotating on the ice.

"Not bad!" Ivan chuckled as the rock star momentarily lost his balance and stumbled to catch himself. "Again!"

By the fifth or sixth time, Arthur was beginning to get the hang of this spin. Sure it was simple, but it was satisfying to not fall on his face every time. He decided to try once more, getting his feet into position. As he pushed off, he heard the door open once again. Okay, don't panic, you don't want to stumble and fall in front of Amelia, do you? He spun once, twice, three times before hearing someone howling like a wolf.

Snapping his eyes open mid-spin, Arthur saw that a whole group had entered the rink and not one of them was the American. There was one tall, blonde stepping onto the ice and behind her there were three faces pressed up against the glass that surrounded the rink. He recognized them immediately: red and blond hair, familiar eyebrows, and eyes that were the same shade of green as his own… No doubt about it, even though they were less than a blur in his sights: it was his brothers and they were watching him figure skate.

Losing his footing, Arthur fell forward onto the ice. From the stands, he could hear Allistor and Reiley laughing uncontrollably and knew, from experience, that Dylan was likely snickering at the very least.

"Oi! Artie, where's your tutu?!" Reiley bellowed, barely containing his laughter enough to form words.

Arthur snapped his head up and glared at his brother, "That's ballet, you arse!"

"You would know!" the laughter exploded again.

The blonde skater came up to Arthur. "Woah, wipe-out… Need a hand, Arthur..?" Raising his eyes to the new skater, the rock star was surprised to see that it was one of Amelia's best friends, Mathia, extending a hand to him.

Arthur took the Dane's hand. "Thanks, but what are you doing here?" he asked, taking her hand and trying to ignore the jabs that his brothers were making at his expense.

The girl grinned and pulled Arthur to his feet. "Well, I heard that Ivan needed backup so," she pointed her thumb to her chest proudly, "here I am!"

Arthur nodded before turning to the three idiots making a spectacle behind the glass, "And what are you wankers doing here?!" he yelled, growing very annoyed with their teasing and Reiley's impression of him falling and hitting the ice.

"We heard that you were here, figure skating with Amelia so we had to come and see for ourselves." Dylan answered calmly, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

"Yeah, but even I can skate better than you, Artie. Look!" Reiley put his hands in the air before making airy moves and a not-so-graceful twirl or two before tripping and falling out of view.

Allistor snorted, looking to where his brother had fallen. "Yup, he's just about as graceful as Artie…" They all started to laugh again, even Reiley who popped up, ego unscathed.

Mathia laughed and Arthur rolled his eyes. They were never going to let this go—not ever! He was going to have to think of a way to get them back, perhaps something involving the occult…

The door to the ice rink opened and closed once more. Arthur saw that, finally, Amelia had returned. As the American stepped onto the ice he made a point to look at the skates that she wore—it was immediately apparent why she did not wish to wear them. They weren't any ordinary skates, they were pure white; normal enough, the Brit mused. However, the toe and the ankles where decorated in sunflowers, embroidered right onto the boot in a variety of golds and yellows with deep green for the foliage. It was beautiful, or at least that's what he would have thought, if he didn't know about the Russian's affinity for sunflowers. How he knew that…well it was certainly not because he had run a Google search on the man…

"I'm here!" was the Yank's unenthusiastic greeting. She was followed inside by Lukas and Emilie who Arthur could only guess came with Mathia.

Ivan smirked, "Good, you skate better already. Now, go warm up." They watched the girl skate away. "Okay, Arthur, again!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and put his feet into position. He pushed into the spin: one rotation.

"What does spinning have to do with the President's training?" The Danish voice asked. Two rotations—so far so good…

"Hmmm… Don't know… I just wanted to see him try it…" The Russian chuckled.

"WHAT?!" Arthur shrieked, losing his momentum and snapping his gaze to the smirking skater as he spun out.

"You did not fall down! Good for you!" Ivan chortled good-naturedly and began to clap. Before Arthur could retort, he heard voices calling from behind.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Arthur turned to see his brothers, cheering from behind the glass. They were not cheering for him. "Teacher of the year!" and "Go Braginsky!" were cheered from the traitorous audience.

"Shut it, wankers!" Arthur scowled; heat rising in his cheeks and ears. Yes, for this level of humiliation, vengeance was necessary: if not something of the occult, then at least hiding all of their alcohol or mixing them to ruin the taste…

Ivan interrupted the Brits thoughts of vengeance by nudging his shoulder. "What do you see?" Following the taller man's line of sight, Arthur realized that he was watching Amelia skate around the ice, gaining speed with every second. She really was much better than she had been a few moments ago.

"What do you mean?" the rock star asked, never taking his eyes off of the Yankee.

There was a slight pause before the Russian answered. "You know what I mean."

Arthur took a breath and continued to watch his former protégée glide over the frozen rink. She really wasn't as graceless as he often claimed; she actually seemed very intent at the moment—perhaps trying to prove herself after failing with her old skates. There were no jumps, spins, or flourishes in her movements, but it was still impossible to look away.

"Well," Arthur mused, his heart beating quickly, as though trying to catch up with the blonde. "She keeps her head up and can see everything and everyone around her…" he thought for a moment. "She doesn't seem to think about her movements at all she just—knows how she wants to move and does it."

"The exact opposite of you," the Russian observed. Arthur flinched mentally; Ivan had said exactly what Arthur had been thinking.

There must have been a nick in the ice as the American stumbled lightly but continued skating, she was confident in her abilities, that much was apparent as she continued powering through the ice. Slowly, she skated to where the two men stood.

"Judges?!" she asked, slightly breathless. Her cheeks were rosy from her quick jaunt around the rink and her impossibly blue eyes were sparkling. Suddenly, it was as if Arthur couldn't find his tongue to even attempt to answer the girl. Braginsky had no such problem.

"Your skating is good, but you still depend on raw strength too much," he chided gently. "You need to think about your movements more carefully."

Amelia rolled her eyes as if she had heard this before, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Think more, don't be so wild with your movements…" she said, as though she had rehearsed this list numerous times.

The Russian sighed and shook his head, "Just go and practice, you two. Mathia and I will be watching you and offering help as you need it." He looked up to a clock mounted on the wall right next to the hockey scoreboard. "Free skate for an hour while I fill Ms. Køhler in on what the President wants you to learn. Make some improvements."

Braginsky skated away. Mathia, after giving the pair a quick double thumbs up, followed him. Arthur wondered as to what those plans were and what the devil ice skating was to help learn. Surely there was some easier way to learn how to interact with each other, a way that did not include ice skating or ballet dancing—especially when such activities were taught by one of the pair's exes.

A pair of hands took his, pulling him from his suppositions. He looked up to see Amelia beaming at him. "Come on, Arthur! Let's skate together!"

"And how is that going to help improve our skating abilities?" he asked stiffly, trying to ignore the tingly feeling he was getting when their hands touched.

The easy going girl laughed. "Who cares! Let them worry about that!" she said jabbing her thumb toward where Ivan and Mathia were sitting, likely going over the papers that the president had given the skater. "Oh!" the American exclaimed quietly. Before Arthur could ask why, she had pulled off her scarf and was moving to put it around his neck. "Your cheeks are a little flushed from the cold. You can use this now; I'm warmed up from skating."

The oblivious girl leaned against the Brit's body, wrapping the scarf around his neck and having to stand on the tips of her skates to do so. Was it possible that she couldn't feel his heart race despite being pressed so close? She looked up to him, her face centimeters from his: blue met green.

"There," Amelia said quietly before she pulled away, looking pleased with her handiwork. She took his hand again, "Come on!"

As he skated slightly behind her, still holding her hand, Arthur couldn't help but smile. The scarf smelled like her, soft and sweet; it was a familiar, happy scent. It also made Arthur's chest ache, like a longing for something vague and distant.

Amelia squeezed his hand; it was like electricity flowed through his veins. For the moment he did not care what his brothers thought or even about how Ivan was watching them intently.

* * *

 **Allistor = Scotland**

 **Reiley = Northern Ireland**

 **Dylan = Wales**

 **Mathia = Nyo-Denmark**

 **Lukas = Norway**

 **Emilie = Nyo-Iceland**

* * *

 **Merry Christmas Everyone! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays!**

 **Thank you for reading, following, and/or favoriting this silly little story of mine. I would also like to give a super special thank you to Buttery Toast Babe and DeiDeiArtistic for their wonderful reviews. DeiDeiArtistic, I would just like to say that I appreciate all of your comments and that you are the BEST sort of person for leaving such wonderful reviews, thank you!**

 **It seems like everytime I post, each progressive chapter is longer than the last. Would you all appreciate shorter chapters? I feel annoying when my chapters stretch on and on :P**

 **I apologize, I am not completely happy with this chapter. In fact, it may undergo reconstruction...**

 **ANYWAYS, if you're still reading my extremely long authors note,** **Fun fact: because ice in indoor ice rinks is chilled by a refrigeration system beneath the ice, the air in the rink usually hovers around 10-15c (50-60 degrees Fahrenheit). Just if you're wondering why the air temperature isn't freezing in the story. Also, ice for figure skating is a bit warmer than ice for playing hockey so that it can withstand the pressure of the jumps without cracking. Hockey players prefer colder ice so that the ice can withstand higher traffic.**

 **As ALWAYS, please feel free to leave feedback in the review section or PM me if you so desire. It is always exciting to hear from readers, I love it!**

 **P.S. This chapter is dedicated to all of my friends who, somehow or other, have made the choice to follow this crazy mess. You know who you are and I love you! Merry Christmas :)**

 **Til' Next Time!**

 **Published 25/12/2016**

 **Word Count: 4,756**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

Skating around the ice, Amelia slowed periodically to scoop up frozen shavings from the floor of the rink. Over the past hour, she had created a sizable ball of frost without arousing the suspicion of the Brit. Glancing over her shoulder; the American couldn't suppress a smirk as she watched Arthur skate closer. He was apparently lost in thought, perfect! It was time; the moment to use her makeshift snowball had arrived.

"Yo! Arthur!" she called, making sure that the ice was packed tightly.

"Hmm?" the rock star hummed, glancing up to the American.

POW! The ice hit his face and shattered on impact. His nose and cheeks were red from the blow and small frozen flakes clung to his eyebrows and lashes. He blinked for a moment, as though too surprised to react properly. Amelia started to snicker under her breath, bull's-eye!

"AMELIA!" he bellowed, furiously wiping his face with balled fists. "BLOODY HELL! AMELIA!" It was too much! Amelia burst out laughing and started to skate away as Arthur set his sights on her. "Get back here!"

It had been worth it! Though Ivan had given them an hour to practice, Arthur had spent a good portion of their time skating completely spaced out. The pop star had lost count on how many times she had to jab his side to get his attention. What on Earth did he have to think so hard about? They were just skating!

"Hey!" Amelia looked over and saw Mathia waving them over from the edge of the rink. "You guys ready for a break?" She grinned. "We have coffee and food ready!"

"Sure!" Amelia cheered, cutting across the center of the rink towards the Dane. Glancing back, she saw Arthur begrudgingly follow, though his green eyes still glinted with a thirst for vengeance. She was going to have to keep an eye on him till he forgot about the snowball to the face.

Walking out of the rink, Amelia caught Ivan's eyes and he motioned her over. Curious, the pop star turned to Mathia and Arthur. "I'll be there in a second!" Mathia nodded and Arthur raised an eyebrow but continued to follow the tall blonde to the upstairs break room. Turning to the skater, Amelia tried to smile. "Hey, what's up?" she asked, leaning against the side of the rink.

"I do not know," Ivan said slowly, glancing over the American. "Are you doing alright?"

She smiled, "Yeah, I am…" she looked at him, "and you?"

Ivan shrugged, "Is not preferable, but is manageable." He looked to the skates on Amelia's feet, "At least, when a certain singer listens to her instructor and is not being stubborn…"

Amelia blushed and looked down. Yes, maybe that was a bit childish… Just because Vanya had gotten her the skates, and they had sunflowers on them, that didn't mean anything, right? "Yeah, about that…" she ran a hand through her hair. "I—uh—" Before she could finish, Ivan held up a hand to silence her.

"Apologizing does not suit you, Podsolnechnik." Amelia couldn't help but feel relieved; it was easy talking to him considering how well they knew each other. Yup, they knew each other very well—that's how Amelia knew that something was wrong.

"Vanya, what is this really about?" the girl questioned softly, his violet eyes were guarded. It was the same look as when he tried to hide something from her—or was trying to figure out what to say.

The ash blond sighed, "You always know, don't you?" He paused for a moment, glancing to the break room, located in the loft over the rink. "He was asking questions…about you and me…"

Amelia felt every muscle in her body stiffen at the news. There was no question as to who Ivan was referring; Arthur had been asking questions. She folded her arms, "Oh?" she wondered aloud. "What did you tell him?"

The Russian smiled easily, "I told him nothing, surely there is a reason that you have not said anything to him, da?" Amelia nodded gratefully as Ivan continued, "I do not know your reasons, but you are my exe and I can be quite…protective…"

"I appreciate your discretion, thank you." Amelia took his hand and smiled, "So, are you going to join us for a snack?" she asked, pulling him toward the stairs to the lounge.

Ivan shook his head, "Nyet, at least, not yet. I have to call my sisters and make sure their practice is going well." He broke away from her grasp and waved her off. "I'll catch up, the Kirkland brothers are anxious to see you!"

"'Kay!" the American agreed cheerfully as she bounded up the stairs, her blades thumping loudly with each step.

Pushing the door open, Amelia was immediately greeted by a rush of warm air. "Warm, warm, warm!" she practically sang, it felt good to be out of the cold arena of ice. Not a moment later and she was wrapped in strong arms that were squeezing her tight.

"Amelia! It's so good to see you!" an enthusiastic Irish voice cheered into her ear.

Amelia relaxed in Reiley's grasp, though it had been at least three years since she had seen Arthur's brothers in person, he hadn't seemed to have changed a bit. He shared Arthurs lime green eyes—all of the brother's did. But Reiley had wild, naturally red hair and an air of mischief about him. It was fitting as he was the third eldest brother, just a year or so older than Arthur.

Slowly, she returned his embrace. "It's good to see you too, Rei!" Amelia squeezed him back, pressing her face to his collarbone and her chest into his abs.

The hug only lasted another moment before the singer felt the Irishman pry her away from his body and held her at arm's length, looking her up and down. "Oi!" he started; eyes wide, "you've…grown up." He stammered.

"Uhhh…" The American began before she was whipped around to face the rest of the room.

"Look, guys!" Reiley bellowed, "Our Little Amelia is all grown up!"

Looking around the room, Amelia saw that she had quite the audience. Mathia was sitting at the table, a wide grin plastered to her face as she tried not to laugh; Lukas and Emilie looked on, their usual deadpan expressions barely containing their amusement; Dylan and Arthur simply stared, incredulous looks spread across their faces; and Alastair walked over to the pair.

There was a sharp pop and suddenly, Amelia found herself freed from Reiley's grasp. Alastair had slapped the back of Reiley's head, Amelia was sure. As she turned to face the brothers, she saw that she had been correct and that, now, the elder brother had snaked one arm around the younger's neck and held him in a headlock.

Alastair rolled his eyes, "As you can see, this arse hasn't changed any…" he said easily, nodding to Reiley as the Irishman attempted to pry his brother's arm away from his throat. With his free hand Alastair patted Amelia's head, "We have missed you though." He glared at Arthur, a strand of his dark, auburn hair falling in front of his eye. "If only _some_ blighter weren't so pretentious, we might've been able to catch up before now." Arthur huffed and looked away.

Amelia laughed and slid her arms around the eldest Kirkland's waist, "I'm glad you guys came! I wish Maddie had come, I know that she misses you guys too!" As Alastair's arm held the American close, Dylan, the second eldest brother, came forward to greet her.

"Actually," Dylan murmured, "we saw Maddie just a little while ago when we went to retrieve Arthur's things from your house." Amelia smiled at this. Dylan looked the most like Arthur with his caramel blond hair and had quieter manner than either Alastair or Reiley. Even so, Arthur denied any similarities between him and his brothers and seemed oblivious to the fact that they all had similar faces with their green eyes and familiar brows.

"When we heard the rumors about you and Arthur, of course we had to rush straight back!" Amelia was released from Alastair's embrace and immediately encased in Dylan's.

Apparently, no one had told them that the whole thing was just a ploy by the agency's president! "Um…well, actually guys…"

"It's all rubbish you gits!" Arthur hissed. "We were blackmailed into doing this—this—charade!"

"WHAT?!" All three elder Kirklands exclaimed; though the Reiley's voice was garbled by his brother's tight hold. Even the three Nordics looked slightly stunned though, thankfully, Mathia kept quiet.

Dylan gently released Amelia before looking to his auburn haired brother. "Alastair, drop Reiley. I'm sure that choke hold is killing what brain cells he has left…"

"Right, can't let that happen," Alastair agreed as he dropped his younger brother into a heap on the floor. Then, he turned his sights on his youngest brother and crossed his arms. "Alright Arthur, explain."

Amelia walked to the table, trying to ignore the conversation going on between the brothers and sat next to Mathia. The older girl was one of her best friends and they hung out together every time they had the chance, often with Gilbert.

The Dane gave her a pitying smile and handed her a mug of coffee. "It's sweet, just how you like it."

The pop star took a sip and smiled, feeling pleasantly warm shivers roll down her back. "It's absolutely perfect!"

Mathia beamed at the compliment. Sitting on the other side of the Dane, Lukas nodded slightly. "At least there is one thing that our 'Queen' can do." Though his voice was deadpan as usual, Amelia knew that the Norwegian meant the slightly back-handed compliment.

"Hi Lukas! Hey, Emilie! Whatcha guys doing here?" Amelia asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"They came to watch me tutor you and Arthur!" Mathia interjected proudly.

"We came to babysit her while she helps to tutor you," Lukas corrected, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Tino and Berwald dropped us off shortly after getting a call from Braginsky earlier." He passed a tray of sandwiches to the American, she took one gratefully. "Originally, Braginsky wanted Tino to help tutor you, but since Tino is busy today, he settled for the Dane."

"Aw, rude!" Mathia pouted, "You know I'm awesome, Lu!" Amelia snickered as Lukas rolled his eyes and Emilie quickly tapped on her cell phone, apparently trying to ignore the pair that she was stuck with.

"So," Amelia turned just as Reiley slid into the chair at the head of the table, right beside her. "Amelia, would you mind signing this for me?" The redhead smiled boldly, pushing a magazine in front of the American. She felt her face go completely hot as she recognized the picture on the front.

"Um, why would you want me to sign a picture of this, dude?" she asked, staring at the picture that had been taken a moment before Vanya had kissed her. Was it just her, or did that picture get more and more embarrassing each time she saw it? Amelia looked to the Irish brother for answers.

"Well, originally, I wanted it to commemorate the start of your and Artie's awkward relationship," Reiley began, rubbing the back of his head self-consciously. "But, since we now know that it is, well, a fake…I just want it for myself and maybe to tease Arthur with it…"

Amelia laughed; it was just like Reiley to want a weird souvenir like this. "Oh, well, in _that_ case…" She happily took the pen that Reiley offered her.

"DON'T AUTOGRAPH THAT!" Arthur roared, momentarily pulling away from his heated conversation with Dylan and Alastair.

Before Amelia could respond Reiley yelled back, "And why shouldn't she? I already got Braginsky's signature!" He took the magazine and brandished it triumphantly. Then he turned and smirked at Amelia, handing the publication back. "He's actually a pretty decent guy!"

"Right?!" Amelia agreed, relishing the look on Arthur's face as she scribbled her name onto the cover. It was just like old times. If Arthur told her not to do something, of course she had to do it! That was the unwritten law of the Kirkland clan.

"Fine," the Englishman muttered, stalking away from his other brothers and seating himself across the table from Lukas. "But I'm not signing the bloody thing…" He took a sandwich and bit into it resolutely.

"Good," Reiley nodded, "because I don't want your signature on this." He smiled evilly, "Your face in the picture says it all!"

Dylan and Alastair laughed as they followed Arthur and sat at the table with their friends; Alastair opposite of Mathia and Dylan opposite of Amelia. "We're just having a bit of fun, Artie!" Dylan cooed, noticing his youngest brother's deep scowl.

"That's right!" Alastair nodded, thumping Arthur's back. "You can't blame us for being excited for believing that our baby brother finally got himself a girlfriend." He took a cup of coffee that Mathia offered to him. "Especially one that we already like!"

"So sorry to disappoint…" Arthur muttered, not meeting the eyes of anyone at the table.

There was silence for a moment. Amelia shifted uncomfortably; she couldn't shake the feeling that the painful silence was all her fault. The quiet was unbearable.

"I know I am a little disappointed," Dylan admitted quietly. All eyes shifted to the second eldest Kirkland. "If the rumors had been true, we could've done stuff like in the old days." He smiled fondly and turned to Amelia, "Do you remember when you first joined The Beasts?" he asked. "You were just a little thing…and Arthur was so excited to be your assigned 'Big Brother'."

"Yeah!" Reiley chimed in, "You were a scrappy little brat! Always full of energy and looking for trouble…" he glanced to his brothers. "Fit right in, didn't she?"

"Mmmhmm…" Alastair nodded, "I still can't believe that she convinced Arthur to steal Madeline away from Frenchie," he smirked at the American. "You just wouldn't let up until you and your sister were in the same band with the same 'Big Brother'."

"I still can't believe that I did it," Arthur mused. Amelia could see a faint smile on the Englishman's lips as he recalled the past. "It felt really good to steal his protégée away," there was a villainous glint in his eye. "I only wish that I could've brewed tea from his tears…"

Alastair, Dylan, and Reiley burst out laughing while Mathia and Lukas exchanged a look. "Wow, Arthur, didn't know you had such a dark side…" Mathia joked, voice a little uneasy.

"Oh yeah," Amelia nodded, "he may be the 'Genteel Beast,'" she said, referring to his fan-given nickname, "but that doesn't mean that he isn't a bad boy at heart." She winked at Arthur and laughed when his cheeks were suddenly dusted with a rosy blush.

"So, you guys heard that Amelia and I were supposedly 'together' but did you hear that the president has us scheduled to perform the Grand Finale at the Agency's Anniversary show?" It was obvious that Arthur was embarrassed and just trying to change the topic. It was so cute; Amelia just wanted to squeeze him! Wait…what? Why was she thinking that?

"We did hear about that," Dylan grinned.

"It'll be like we're getting the band back together!" Reiley cheered, pumping a fist in the air. "And, who knows, maybe it won't be just a one-time deal!" He glanced at Amelia, his eyes wide and pleading. "What do you say Amelia?"

"What do I say, to what?" the American asked, very confused.

Alastair smirked, "Well, we were thinking that, since you and Art seem to be getting along so well that, perhaps you'd want to do a collaboration tour with us."

"No," Arthur said, crossing his arms. His brothers continued as if they hadn't heard anything.

"That's right, we could have a lot of fun bringing you and Maddie back into the band for a few shows, performing together again," Dylan added, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "A type of reunion, if you will…"

"No," Arthur repeated darkly, though his brothers still paid him no mind.

"Exactly!" Reiley chimed in with enthusiasm, "We could do some of the old songs and write some new ones that incorporate more of your sound." He regarded Amelia curiously, "Do you still have the official band jacket?"

"Well," the pop star murmured. She did still have the red coat, though it was likely buried deep her storage closet at home. "I might still have it," she feigned uncertainty; Arthur was giving her a very cold glare. "I—I'll have to look…"

The Englishman slammed his hands onto the table and stood up, the room went silent. "Don't bother." His voice was deathly still. The American cringed inwardly; it was as though his tone was enough to freeze her to the core. "We will do the Finale together but that will be all. After that, things go back to how they were before." His eyes flashed, he looked over the room as though challenging anyone to defy him.

"Arthur," Amelia called weakly, she didn't really know what to say but the urge to do something was too great. "Please…" His eyes were like green spheres of pure malice. Please Arthur, please, please no…

As he rested his sights on the pop star, he frowned. "You made your choice." He muttered; his words were ice in her veins. "You were one of us once…then you left…"

Amelia stood, heart pounding, her chair screeched against the floor as though protesting er sudden movement. "That's not true!" she cried, shaking her head. They'd never talked about her leaving The Beasts of Britannica; it had been foolish of her to hope that they'd never have to.

"It is." He was not letting her get close to him. "You took action; you fought the agency and the state for autonomy; you left the band without a second thought." Arthur stood straight, his eyes locked into hers. "You started this war, Amelia. I can't forgive that."

Fine... If that's how he wanted to play, so be it. "I had no choice, Arthur! You know that! I did what I had to do! I had no voice; no say; no freedom!" She could see him wince at that word but was too angry to care. "I was fighting against my agent and the agency, not you!"

"It _was_ me!" Arthur argued, "All you had to do was say the word and I would've brought you Heaven and Earth! THAT is what Big Brother's are for! " He snarled. "When you fought the agency and quit the band, you were throwing me aside. Basically, you were saying that you didn't need or want my help."

"What about all the times you left on tour and I had to stay behind?" she knew it was a low blow. He had always felt guilty about having to leave the musician-in-training behind, but it was the only way to make her point. Arthur's body went rigid. "You couldn't always take me with you, what was I supposed to do in your absence?" She bit back tears. "All I had then was that tyrant of an agent; I wasn't going to advance at all under his watch!" If he wanted a war, she would give him a war.

"And because of that, it is your fault that the agency did away with personal agents and now we all report directly to the president." Arthur spat venomously, "If not for that, we wouldn't be here, playing along to a madman's scheme!" There it was, he blamed her for their current situation as well.

"FINE!" Amelia conceded, "I'm sorry that, because of me, protocol was changed; I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused the band; I'm sorry for hurting you!" her voice was growing hoarse; the raw emotion was stabbing her throat. Her head was beginning to ache as she listened to her blood thundering through her skull. "But, I will NEVER apologize for doing what I thought was right and I will NEVER apologize for my freedom!"

"Freedom?!" Arthur scoffed; there was pain in his voice. Were those tears in the corners of his eyes? "You just walked away!"

"Stop."

"You just walked away from me, from all of us—"

"I said, STOP!" Amelia glared at Arthur, fury burning through the ice in her veins. "Don't you EVER say that," she whispered, fearing that she would soon lose control over her anger as she fought the tears threatening to overflow. "DON'T you EVER say that…" She swallowed hard. "I HAD to leave the Beasts…" she said slowly, unsure how much to share with the angry man. "I had no other choice..." Her voice nothing more than a whisper.

She and Arthur stared each other down for a few minutes, none of the others in the room daring to interrupt the scene that had unraveled. How dare he, how dare he?! Leaving the Beasts had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done in her life! Why couldn't he see the truth?! What was the truth..? No, no, that was her secret…

The blond man let out a slow breath, "Then, I suppose we have nothing left to say…" He turned away from her and Amelia walked away.

At some point, Ivan had come into the room—likely due to her earlier invitation… He stood by the door, staring at the scene with wide eyes. Unsure how much or how little he had seen, Amelia felt heat burning in her cheeks. "Let's go, Vanya," she muttered, grabbing the ends of his scarf and pulling him out the door with her.

He followed easily, likely too shocked to make much a fuss. "What happened, Sunflower?" he asked quietly as she all but dragged him down the stairs.

She sighed, "I don't even know…" she admitted, stepping off of the stairs and stalking away. "Somehow, old wounds came to light and…" she let her voice trail off, knowing that the Russian was well aware of what she meant. It was too much effort to put the experience into words and she was shaking too violently to care. Her whole body was trembling as the rage she had felt mere moments ago fizzled away and was replaced by a vague, empty sense of regret. The tears were too much, a few of them squeezed out of her eyes, she began to sniffle. "Vanya?"

"Da?"

She turned to face the tall dancer. "I know that we're not…" she started, then paused and tried again. "Would it be okay if—" Her voice broke and it was all she could do to keep from crying aloud as silent sobs shook her shoulders. Don't cry, don't cry, damnit!

He knew what she wanted; he pulled her close and held her tight. For that, Amelia was grateful, though it felt so wrong leaning on him and seeking comfort over a fight she had with another man. How could it be? She had never even been with Arthur—romantically at least—but having him angry with her hurt more than words could describe. He could cut her down with cold words; blatant apathy; a single reproachful look. Why did she even care?!

Vanya…though they had been together for years, he wasn't like that. Sure, initially their relationship had been cold after the breakup, but he had never made her feel resented. Perhaps it didn't work out…but maybe they could be friends..?

Ivan stroked her back and kissed the top of her head, murmuring something in Russian that she could not understand. Amelia made no move to detach herself from him. She could feel her teddy bear ring, currently on a string around her neck and tucked under her shirt, pressing against her skin as she leaned against the Russian. That was comforting at least.

Amelia knew only one thing for certain, the nightmare would return that night: there was no doubt. Tonight she would be tortured by memories of green eyes and her dirty little secret.

 **First Chapter of the 2017! Happy New Year, Everyone! Oh, and Merry Christmas to any Russian readers!**

 **Sorry for the late update (Haha, not that I really have a set update schedule), this was supposed to be out last week, but had to be pushed back due to technical troubles on my profile. I think it's all fixed *Fingers Crossed***

 **Thank you to all who have taken the time to read, follow, and/or favorite this story, with a special thank you to DeiDeiArtistic for their fabulous review! 3 Much Love!**

 **If you've enjoyed my little story thus far, please feel free to leave a review or PM me. I'd love to hear from you! :3**

' **Til Next Time!**

 **Published 6/01/2017**

 **Word Count: 4,030**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

As soon as the door slammed shut it began.

"What the hell was that?!" Alastair stood, glaring daggers at his youngest brother. Reiley and Dylan stood too; Reiley rushing to the windowed wall of the lounge to watch what was going on below.

Dylan folded his arms sternly. "That crossed the line, Arthur."

Arthur met Dylan's gaze and copied his pose. "It had to be done." He remarked sourly.

"She's going down the stairs with Braginsky…" Reiley narrated, still pressed against the window. His brothers ignored him.

"It was pretty harsh, Arthur," Lukas agreed, a frown on his usually indifferent face.

"You've been with her for three days, Art. You seemed to be getting along so well," the second eldest brother pressed.

"It is NOT REAL, GITS!" Arthur snapped, fists balled and resting against his sides. "None of it is real! We are puppets to Vargas' twisted little game. Once it's over, we return to business as usual! She won't come back!" The incredulous looks from his brothers and friends were incredibly annoying. "None of this is real." He muttered once again under his breath.

"Shite, shite, SHITE!" Reiley howled. Everyone paused to look at the redhead. In the window's reflection, his face was twisted into an uncharacteristic frown. "She's crying."

Arthur felt his stomach plummet; he hadn't meant to hurt the American. Well, no…no, that wasn't entirely true… He'd been hurt and he'd been lashing back out of spite, of course he had been trying to upset the girl. But, he never wanted to make her cry…fat load of good intentions were. He _had_ made her cry, he would have to accept that fact and live with it.

Shouldering past Alastair, Arthur went to the window and the regret was immediate. Seeing Amelia clinging to the Russian was like a punch square in the chest. He unfurled his hands and turned from the window.

"I hope you're bloody proud." Reiley spat, shaking his head.

"Sod off," Arthur muttered, walking away

"Man, what is your problem?!" Arthur could feel the anger in his brother's voice. "What are you so afraid of?!"

Arthur did not answer; he merely stopped walking and fought the urge to scream at his idiot brother.

"Enough boys," an easy voice commanded. Looking up, Arthur saw Mathia take charge. "I really need to start working with Arthur on his skating. Just because he's being a _jackass_ doesn't mean that he can get out of the practice that Vargas assigned." Though her blue eyes glittered playfully, there was something cool about her tone that suggested something darker.

Dylan and Reiley complied immediately, making their way towards the door and shooting the youngest brother dirty looks the whole time. Emilie and Lukas made to follow them.

"Lu," Mathia called, gaining the attention of the Norwegian. "Why don't you and Em take the Kirkland bros and explore that mall we passed on the way here?" Lukas raised an eyebrow. Mathia continued, "I'll be done here in a few hours, promise!" She smirked innocently.

After a doubtful look, Lukas gave a slight nod and followed the others out of the lounge. Only Alastair remained, hands on his hips and glaring at Arthur—it was a glare that made Arthur feel two inches tall.

"Are you going to hit me?" Arthur asked bitterly, knowing that his eldest brother was likely to give him a hard slap at the back of the head for being so stupid.

Alastair narrowed his eyes and looked away, nodding to Mathia before exiting the room and snapping the door shut behind him. Arthur blinked in surprise. Somehow that hurt more than Alastair's hand ever had.

Mathia raised an eyebrow, "You okay?"

He shook his head, letting out a breath that he had not been aware that he had been holding before responding. "I'll be fine." He muttered lamely.

"Are ya sure?" the Dane asked, pointing to her neck. Arthur looked at the girl's neck and then looked down to see that he still had Amelia's scarf wrapped around his collar. Growling, he grabbed the wrap and pulled hard, fighting to untangle himself. Chortling, Mathia walked up to the Brit and eased the scarf from around his neck and handed it to him, "Here, better?"

"Not really." He sighed, balling the scarf in his hands and slammed it down onto the table.

The tall blonde clicked her tongue, "Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

Mathia shrugged, "Fine, we don't have to talk about it now," or ever, as far as the Englishman was concerned. "But," she looked at Arthur coldly, "don't expect me to go easy on you after that!" It was suddenly apparent why the girl was the self-proclaimed 'Queen of the North,' her eyes were sharp and cold with something wild lurking beneath the surface. "Let's go."

After a chill ran through Arthur, he felt compelled to do as the Dane commanded and followed her down to the rink without protest. At the far side, Amelia was watching Ivan demonstrate some intricate footing and didn't give the Dane or the Brit so much as a sidelong glance. It was for the best really.

"Alright, Artie," Arthur was about to correct the obnoxious girl, but stopped cold when he saw her pulling a hockey stick from the beneath the bleachers. "Let's get started…"

"What is that for?" He asked, never taking his eyes off of the stick.

"Well, Ivan says that you need to learn how to skate well without over-thinking things," She smirked playfully. "I can't think of a better way to teach someone to skate without over-thinking than to smack them every time they start to over-think."

"You can't be serious." Arthur shook his head.

Mathia smiled. "Better start skating, Arthur!" she sang sweetly. The rock star shuttered, this was going to be a long day…

* * *

Mathia continued to "teach" him to skate for the rest of the day. She would give him more and more difficult routines and watch him attempt to complete them. Whenever he looked down or appeared to be thinking too hard about the series of movements, he would receive a sharp flick to the ankles with an unforgiving hockey stick.

"Go, Arthur! Faster!" she cheered, skating at the Brit's side as he wove in and out of the bright cones that she had set on the ice. It had gotten easier to stop over-thinking the movement of his skates, but without those thoughts to occupy his head others soon took their place.

He really shouldn't have gotten so angry with Amelia—it was his brothers who had been throwing out hasty invitations. Wankers, they knew how he felt. Still, there was no need to snap at the Yank like that, he really needed to apologize. As for making her cry…ugh…he hated to think about it—it was truly unforgivable.

He was glad that Amelia and Ivan had ended their lesson about a half-hour ago, it had been very hard to keep his thoughts straight while the pop star had been skating at the other end of the ice rink.

Arthur rounded the cones and shook his head. Well, if nothing else, at least it proved that they could not work together. He'd probably be able to put some distance between himself and the girl now. That was what he'd wanted wasn't it? Yes, from day one, he'd been cautious to keep the American at arm's length. So why did his chest feel tight at this thought? _You know why._ Arthur circled the final cone and slid to a stop, breathless and awaiting Mathia's critique.

"Yeah!" the Nordic girl cheered, "Great job! That was the best yet! You didn't look to your feet for guidance once, you kept your head up…it was great!" she thumped his back and knocked the breath out of the rock star. "Want to take a break?"

"Yes, please," Arthur immediately answered, groaning a little as the pain in his ankles caught up to him. Everything hurt: Mathia had hit everything from his ankles to his shins; he had fallen more than once due to her unconventional teaching methods, scraping his hands and knees; and he could feel bruising developing all over his body.

The girl nodded, "Alright, you rest up. I'll get us some hot chocolate!" She winked at him before skating off. The girl was a monster!

Moving to follow the girl off of the ice, the Brit found that he could not do it; the pain in his right ankle was shooting up through his leg to his knee. Great, with his luck it would be broken—or worse. Opting to readjust his skate before moving off of the rink, Arthur shrugged out of his coat and placed it on the icy floor before sitting on top of it and unlacing the skate.

Hissing, he removed the boot from his foot and pulled the sock down. There were angry red marks splotching up and down the ankle, some of which were already turning black and blue. The marks were swelling a bit, but nothing seemed to be broken.

"There are benches just outside the rink, you know," Arthur looked up to see the Dane returning with two paper cups in her hands. Damn she was fast! She handed one to him gingerly before attempting to sit beside him, dressed in a knee-length, black coat, the ice didn't seem to bother her at all.

"Yes, well, I needed to make certain that your little 'lessons' haven't crippled me," he simpered.

At that, Mathia laughed. "Man, growing up with your brothers should have toughened you up!" Arthur rolled his eyes; Mathia had started in the agency around the same time as his brothers and had sometimes joined in on their shenanigans. She had been wild and fierce in her youth—it was unbelievable how much she had mellowed as she grew older.

"You would know." He muttered, taking a sip of the too-sweet drink. Tea was so much better.

She ran a hand through her wild hair. "Yeah…I would…" she agreed quietly, holding her cup of cocoa in both hands. Arthur watched the girl closely; under normal circumstances she would have been insufferably loud and obnoxious. Her being still and quiet was never a good sign. "Arthur, what the hell happened between you and Amelia?"

"You were there, you saw what happened." Arthur muttered, starting to put his skate back on to give his hands something to do.

"I meant…back then," Arthur fumbled with the laces and couldn't bring himself to look his companion in the face. He took the laces again. "You used to be so close…"

"I believe that was covered in today's earlier spat," he noted, tying the knot much too tight.

"So…" the Dane said with exaggerated skepticism, "Amelia wanted to leave the band in order to get rid of her crappy agent and you begged her to disregard her unhappiness just to stay with you..?"

Arthur sighed and relieved his grip on the laces. He knew what she was doing; she was trying to prod him into talking. What made him very mad was that she was succeeding. "Not…exactly…" he admitted. There was silence as the Nordic girl waited for him to continue.

"Amelia was unhappy with her agent, I knew that. I had tried to petition the agency to contract her to someone else, but the problem was that she was contracted to that agent already and as a ward of the government, he gained power of her guardianship with that contract." He shrugged, "It was some big deal, I suppose. I never completely understood it myself. All I knew was that it was going to be a very difficult process to get her a new guardian.

"After a while, I guess that Amelia got tired of waiting for the bureaucratic nonsense and decided to take action herself." Mathia sat next to Arthur, eyes round with rapt attention. Arthur surprised himself at how much he was telling the Dane, though it felt cathartic to finally tell the story aloud. "She filed a petition with the government and gave a Declaration of Emancipation." At this point, the Brit couldn't help the bitter chuckle that escaped his lips. "I was impressed and so proud of her," he could feel his eyes begin to sting as he remembered the events of the story. "When I congratulated her on getting a court date, I wanted to extend to her full membership into the band, once she was free, but…" his voice felt weak, just remembering that night was almost too painful. He cleared his throat in an attempt to break up the lump of feelings collected there.

"But," he continued, "She told me that she didn't want to continue with the Beasts. She said that she was going to move out of the agency's dormitory and perhaps get Madeline to join her." Arthur shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was surprised to say the least, never before had I ever heard her consider leaving the band.

"I begged her to reconsider. After becoming emancipated and moving out on her own, starting a whole new career seemed like it would be too much. At least if she re-signed with us, I could keep an eye on her and make sure that she was doing well before letting her go off on her own…"

"You thought you knew what was best for her…" Mathia interjected quietly.

Arthur nodded, "It was presumptuous, I know. But, at the time, I was her Big Brother and I wanted to keep her close by—" He knew how selfish it sounded, but that was how he had felt. "The worst part was what came next, after voicing my concerns she still wouldn't listen. Then, I told her that, as her Big Brother, I wouldn't accept her resignation—she was too young and inexperienced to be completely on her own."

Arthur took a breath and covered his face with his hands, "That's when she said that…that I was no longer her Big Brother…" His chest was tight from recalling that time.

The two of them sat in silence for a while as Mathia stared blankly across the ice, seemingly trying to absorb the Brit's story. For this Arthur was grateful. Although it happened four years ago, the wounds were still fresh.

Had he not been a competent Big Brother? Had he been too complacent in trying to get Amelia a different guardian? It was true, he had thought that the girl's need for a new guardian to be simply teenage angst—an extreme dislike for being told what to do. But he had pressed for a new agent on her behalf just the same. Perhaps she thought that he had not been pressing hard enough? Or, perhaps she had seen him as a part of the problem. Whatever the case, she had felt the need to distance herself from him and the band.

"So, why did she leave the band?" Arthur blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the question that the girl had asked. Why had Amelia left the Beasts?

"I don't know," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair. "I wish I did." At the Dane's curious look, Arthur continued, "I asked once…she said that she couldn't tell me." He shook his head. "I never found out."

"Hmmm," Mathia hummed thoughtfully. "I'm sure she had a good reason." She moved to stand, brushing the frost from her clothing. "Though, if I were you, I'd knock off that cold, hostile attitude…"

"I beg your pardon," Arthur stammered as he too stood. His ankle was still sore and shaky but he could probably make it to the edge of the rink just fine.

"Well, if you want to win her over…being nice is _kind_ of a necessity." The girl crossed her arms and nodded positively.

"I beg your pardon?!" the rock star exclaimed, trying desperately to keep his balance. The Dane could not be serious!

Mathia laughed and took Arthur's hands, pulling him towards the edge of the rink. "We are a lot alike, you and I. We both have nasty tempers and we both chased our younger siblings away." She gave the Brit a lopsided grin. "The only difference is that…I made up with my family."

Arthur thought for a moment. He could vaguely remember the Nordic's breaking up for a short while a few years ago. If he recalled correctly, Berwald and Tino had left the band, tired of how bossy Mathia was being.

He mustn't sound too interested. "And how did you do that?"

The Dane shrugged. "Apologizing—that was the hardest part. Then I had to learn not to take things too seriously: just laugh things off."

"So now—instead of being the demanding, controlling leader of the band; you're an overly-cheerful, overgrown child who can't seem to take anything seriously?" He wasn't convinced. More had to have happened to change her personality so completely.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy, Artie!" she laughed, releasing his hands as they walked out of the rink and onto solid ground. "An 'overgrown child,' that's pretty rude!" Regardless of what she said, the Dane was still grinning widely. "But, to answer your question, yes."

Arthur rolled his eyes as they walked into the locker room, "And how is this supposed to help me?" He collapsed onto the bench in front of the locker which held his shoes and began to untie the skates

"You want to apologize to Amelia, right?" Arthur bit his lip and said nothing. Mathia smirked knowingly, delicately turning the key to her own locker. "You live just like you skate—you over-think too much, look down too often, and end up missing critical moments." She opened her locker and pulled out her boots before sitting on the bench and unlacing her skates.

Huffing, Arthur retrieved his trainers and laced them up. It felt really good to be back in normal shoes. He did want to apologize to Amelia, he just wasn't sure taking advice from the Dane was the smartest idea. Was he desperate enough for that? It was a lot to consider.

It would have been completely silent as they returned the skates to the counter had it not been for the annoyingly bouncy—and vaguely familiar—tune that Mathia was humming. The girl working the counter was quick and efficient and soon Arthur was walking out the double doors of the indoor skating rink and toward the SUV that his brothers must have borrowed from the agency.

"Well, Artie, it's been fun!" Mathia said, waving to Berwald who was at the far entrance, apparently waiting for his sister.

"Ah, y-yes," Arthur agreed, not relishing the grim looks that his brothers were giving him from afar. "Thank you for er—helping me today…"

Mathia smirked, "No problem! It was fun!" She seemed content to make Berwald wait a bit longer.

The Brit grimaced. "Fun? That depends on what side of the hockey stick you were on…"

"Like I said, it was fun!"

Shaking his head, Arthur sighed. "Yes, well… I suppose I'll see you around the agency." He turned to leave.

"Hey, Arthur," Arthur looked back, seeing the Dane smiling gently. "Really, good luck with Amelia."

The rock star turned and gave the girl a curious look. "You know, you've been telling me to make up with her since the night of her concert. Mind telling me why?"

Shrugging, the girl looked up thoughtfully, "Well, she is one of my best friends and I know she misses you," Arthur scoffed, but the Dane continued as though she hadn't noticed. "Plus, since she broke up with Ivan, there aren't any other guys that are in the way at the moment…"

Arthur blinked, what did she just say? "Wait, what?" he asked.

"Huh?" The girl tilted her head; she seemed to think about what she had just said. Her eyes grew wide. "I-I…"

Suddenly there was a voice from behind. "Mathia, it's time to go." Berwald, apparently having grown tired of waiting for his sister had come to personally retrieve her. His face was stern as he folded his arms.

"Hi, Waldy!" Mathia cheered, she looked back to the Brit. "Bye, Arthur!" she smirked before sprinting off at top speed toward the car where Tino, Lukas, and Emilie were waiting. She'd left Arthur with more questions than answers. Amelia had broken up with Braginsky?

Berwald blinked in surprise, "What was that about?" he asked, glancing at the Englishman.

Arthur shook his head, "I have no idea."

 **Hello everyone and thank you for reading, following, favoriting, and/or reviewing! Not much to say in this note other than I am not sure if I like this chapter or not-it may or may not get another "final" polishing… Ah well!**

 **A deep, heartfelt thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter: Willow Breeze the first, Guest, Ashleyyy, and Darkabyssoflove. You are all wonderful people and every word, critique, and compliment is read, taken into consideration, and cherished. So, Thank You!**

 **Another thank you and birthday shoutout to my beautiful sister! She is the only reason that this story was ever published and she is also the only reason for the somewhat timely updates. Happy Birthday, Love :3 I only wish it was a more lighthearted chapter!**

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 **EDIT: Oops, I forgot that guest reviews cannot receive PMs (duh...I should know better. Haha)**

 **GUEST: I think both guest reviews were written by the same person? Sorry if that is incorrect! Anyway, hello. I'm so happy that you've taken the time to read my story! Yeah, Arthur can be a bit much to deal with at times. This chapter was meant to be a reveal chapter so you can see a little more of the history between these two since neither of them particularly likes to think about that time. I never meant to make Arthur the villain, but it seems like I've done a fairly good job at it. XD**

 **ASHLEYYY: Hi there. Thank you for reading my story and your kind words, they mean a lot to me! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, it was a bit...angsty. Also, thank you for letting me know that you like long chapters, it is helpful when I am trying to determine if a chapter is too long (it seems like that happens with every chapter, haha). I usually update every week-Sometimes longer if a chapter is particularly difficult to write. Hopefully that isn't making the wait too long :)**

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 **DISCLAIMER: This piece of fiction is not meant to be a guide to the process of becoming an emancipated youth. To learn more, please research your local procedures online and/or consult an attorney.**

* * *

' **Til Next Time!**

 **Published: 15/1/2017**

 **Word Count 3,391**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

"Amelia, what happened?" It must have been the hundredth time that Madeline had asked that same question. The pop star took a deep breath, she had been trying to watch television with her sister and put the day behind her. Well, Maddie did not give up very easily. Amelia forced a small smile.

"Nothing. Just practice with Vanya, you know…following Vargas' plan…" she tried to laugh light heartedly but it came out sounding strained. Maybe the Canadian would let the question slip. She had been asking the same question since before dinner, surely she'd have to believe the American sooner or later.

"Come on, Amé," the violet-eyed twin folded her arms resolutely. Well, it had been a nice thought.

"That's enough, Maddie," Amelia sighed, trying to end the conversation. She turned off the television and began to climb the stairs on her way to her bedroom. Her temples were beginning to ache and she could feel a dull throbbing at the back of her head. She'd returned home hours ago, tired and cross from the day's events. Though the Frenchman had been surprisingly mild and dropped the topic when she had expressed her unwillingness to talk about it, her sister was another story altogether. Though she didn't constantly question the pop star's lesson, it was the topic that always arose, impossible to evade for long.

Cool hands clasped Amelia's as she reached for the doorknob to her bedroom. "Amé, talk to me." Turning, the American saw the concern in her sister's eyes and sighed. She wasn't ready to talk about what happened and she doubted if she'd EVER admit that tears had been shed, but she couldn't just ignore Maddie.

Amelia shot a sincere smile to her sister. "I'm okay, Maddie. Really, I am. I just…had a rough day and just want to sleep." The Canadian's eyes fell to the floor in defeat as she mumbled something that Amelia could not hear. Amelia shook her head and kissed her sister's forehead. "Look, I'll tell you about it tomorrow, after my lesson with Francis." And hopefully, then I will have a happier answer to your question, she thought.

Madeline lifted her face to meet Amelia's gaze and nodded slowly. "Okay, but I'm here if you need me, Amé."

Amelia took her twin in her arms and hugged her very tightly. How did she ever get lucky enough to have a sister like Maddie?

After she bid her sister good night, Amelia quickly showered and crawled into bed. Her body ached from exertion and her headache was growing, she prayed for sleep to come quickly. Laying on her mattress, surrounded by pillows, it was as though the American's mind was determined to recall the fight in every small detail. Slowly, after much tossing and turning, Amelia fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

 _"Amelia…"_

 _The American opened her eyes, blinking wearily as she tried to wake and search for the source of the voice._

 _"Amelia…" the voice called again, this time a bit clearer, though the pop star still couldn't quite place it. Who could it be? Maddie? Francis?_

 _Wait… Looking up, she realized that the ceiling she was staring at was not her own—at least, not the one she had fallen asleep under. Small, glow-in-the-dark stars hung from the ceiling above, slightly glowing in the eerie twilight. Amelia sat up and swung her legs over the tiny, twin bed. She knew this place, this had been her childhood room—the room she and Maddie had shared as little girls in the Beautiful World Talent Academy._

 _"Amelia…" turning to meet the voice, Amelia's eyes widened. There, standing in the doorway, calling to her softly, was Arthur. No, no, this couldn't be, not again. Before Amelia could respond, another voice answered._

 _"I'm coming, Big Bro!" the pop star's blood went cold. She slowly turned to see a blonde girl, just a bit smaller than herself, frantically trying to stuff the last of her belongings into a large duffel bag. There was no denying it; she was having the dream again._

 _Looking around, everything in the room, except for the stars and two twin beds had been stripped completely bare. The little girl slung the massive bag over her shoulder and stumbled over to where the Brit waited. Her short, wavy hair bounced as she skipped towards the Englishman. Past Amy—that was the name Amelia had long ago given to her younger, dream-self._

 _Amelia watched the phantoms of the past chat cheerfully and shivered as she moved to stand behind her younger-self. She remembered this day well. This was the day that she had officially been taken on with the Beasts as Arthur's protégé. She had been twelve at the time and Arthur had been sixteen—both so young, so naïve…_

 _Her heart ached as she watched Young Arthur take the bag from her younger self and ruffle her hair. Adoration was apparent in his eyes. "Let's go, Amelia," Past Arthur said, smiling kindly, "we mustn't keep the others waiting. They are anxious to meet you."_

 _Past Amy grinned widely and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah!" she agreed, hugging Arthur's arm and allowing him to lead her out of the room and down the hall, like a little puppy. She never even looked back, not once._

 _The American shook her head and ran a hand through her hair as she watched her past-self fawn over the young rocker. The way she looked at him…it was as though she believed that he hung the moon and the stars—always existing just beyond her reach…_

 _"Good luck," Amelia murmured, reaching a hand out to the two fated youth. She knew that they couldn't hear her; this wasn't the first time that she'd had this dream—not by a long shot. Amelia had lived this scene once and then had come back to witness it in replay more times than she could count. It was a bittersweet dream, filled with the things that they had done and said so long ago. However, the nineteen-year-old Amelia knew what happened at the end of this nightmare and she wanted out._

 _"Okay, Amy, time to wake up," she commanded, punching herself in the head, "wake up!" Her fist made contact with the side of her head but she felt nothing. Typical, in dreams you couldn't feel pain. She was trapped, just like every other time she'd had this dream before—not that it would stop her from trying to awaken. "Wake up, wake up!" she screamed. If she couldn't wake up soon, she would be lost to the dream._

 _Wake up! The world around her began to shift, making her more desperate to awaken and escape the visions that haunted her. Wake up, wake up! Too late, the next scene was unfolding._

 _"Thank you, Arthur! Thank you, thank you!" Past Amy, now age thirteen, jumped up and down with excitement, clutching a brown teddy bear to her chest. The rock star had just won the teddy for her at one of the booths at a county fair—to this day, Amelia wondered how Arthur had convinced her agent to allow her to play hooky and skip her vocal and dance lessons._

 _"Not at all," the rock star smiled and waved his hand lazily, walking with Past Amy through the various booths and exhibits. "You deserve a day off every now and again." He patted the young teen's head and she grinned._

 _The pop star smiled in spite of herself; watching the scene unfold._

 _You were so happy, so loved…_

 _Amelia frowned, closed her eyes, and shook her head._

 _When she again opened her eyes, Amelia found that she was standing next to Past Arthur, admiring the inventory of small trinkets at one of the many booths that had come to sell their wares. She had taken the place of Past Amy and was now experiencing the memories firsthand. Yes, she remembered this too, it always happened this way._

 _Looking at Arthur, Amelia noticed how young he really was—seventeen. He was still as slender as the Arthur she knew in the present: he had the same lime-green eyes; the same cheekbones and jaw line; the same shaggy blond hair…_

 _He turned and smirked at her. "Do you like that, Amelia?"_

 _No! No, she didn't like it, uh—him! Not in that way!_

 _Oh, wait. Amelia noted that Arthur was looking at what she held in her hands; a small metal ring with the silhouette of a teddy bear on top. She hadn't even noticed that she had been holding the trinket. It was the very ring that she was—er—had been wearing._

 _"Yes, I do," Amelia responded in a shy voice, forced to play the part as it had happened years ago._

 _"Are you sure that you wouldn't prefer one of these rings?" Past Arthur asked, motioning to a more expensive selection of rings. It was true, those rings were made with better materials and the ring that she held had been in a basket clearly meant for young children. But she didn't care; the teddy bear was the one for her. Besides, it was the same shape as the one Arthur had just won for her—it was a teddy bear she could carry with her always._

 _Amelia nodded resolutely. The phantom before her smirked and paid the vendor for the childish piece of jewelry. "Alright, let me see." Arthur took the hoop from the girl's hands and gently pinched the metal so that it would fit his Little Sister's slim finger. "There." He muttered, once he was satisfied with his work._

 _Crap! She needed to focus! Amelia shook her head; she had almost been lost to the dream. Wake up, you idiot! Wake up! Arthur smiled at her and pulled her right hand into his._

 _Heat grew in the American's cheeks as she watched the Brit gingerly slide the ring onto her finger. It was so shiny and new, hard to believe that that same ring was now so bent and tarnished with wear._

 _Before she knew what she was doing, Amelia found herself on her tiptoes, pressing her lips chastely to the Brit's jaw line. She had been aiming for his cheek, but she wasn't quite tall enough to reach it. "Thanks, Artie!" she cheered, adoring the small teddy on her finger._

 _"Arthur," he gently corrected, resting a hand on her head. "You're welcome, Love."_

 _The colors of his face blurred for a moment before the world shifted again. They were no longer at a fair together. Now they were standing in the foyer of the Beautiful World Talent Agency. Amelia's heart was pounding and her eyes stung as she fought back tears._

 _"Do you really have to go?" she pleaded, clinging to Arthur's hand and looking desperately into his eyes._

 _The Englishman ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm sorry, Love. We have a few concerts in the U.K. this week."_

 _"Then take us with you!" she begged, squeezing his hand harder. Without her Big Brother, she and Maddie would be very lonely, not to mention their agent would have control over the time Arthur usually had to spend with them as their Big Brother. That meant extra training on top of school and their formal classes—no fun at all. With an agent like that…who would ever want to be a pop star?!_

 _Arthur looked up and past the American, no doubt glancing to the tyrant himself, determining if he would allow the girls to accompany the band. She could tell by the Brit's face what the answer had been—what it always had been and always would be. "Not this trip, Poppet." He murmured some more soft words that Amelia couldn't seem to hear. All that mattered was that he was leaving…again…_

 _She watched his back as he and the other Kirklands walked out the door—all wearing long, red coats. She saw them climb into the waiting car outside and held out her hand as though to stop the car from pulling away. And then…he was gone…_

 _The scene before her melted away until all that was left was shadows. She was alone. The emptiness was stifling and Amelia felt as though she couldn't breathe._

 _Then, there it was…the door she'd seen so many times before. It was tall and foreboding, painted in a deep, blood red. No, no! Don't reach for the knob! Amelia's heart beat faster… There was something awful behind that door…something she didn't want to see… No, don't open the door, don't open—_

"NO!" She sat up straight in bed, gasping for breath. She had meant to scream, but her voice was but a thin croak. Glancing around to room, Amelia shivered and reached over to turn on her lamp.

The light was welcomed as it chased away the specters of the dream that lingered once the American awoke. Covered in sweat, Amelia couldn't stop shivering, it was as though her body couldn't decide whether she was hot or cold. She had known that the nightmare was a distinct possibility after the day's events, but this knowledge never dulled the anxiety and pain that so often accompanied the dream.

Glancing to the clock on her bedside, she scowled. "Damn-it…" It was only three o' clock—a full six hours before she was supposed to be at the opera house for Francis' lesson. Rubbing her eyes, Amelia growled and regarded her options. One, she could try to go back to sleep and pray that the nightmare did not resume—ha! That wasn't going to happen.

Or two, get up and try to survive the day with only a few hours of sleep. Neither option was good, but there was no way in hell that she was going back to sleep. Just the thought of turning out the lights and closing her eyes seemed to invite memories that she'd rather not recall at the moment.

Getting up, she pulled some clothes from the closet, not even caring what they were. She showered once more to clean the cold sweat from her body and crept downstairs to get something to eat.

"Maybe eggs," she muttered rummaging through the impeccably neat refrigerator, and taking out a few ingredients. Francis took his duty to the kitchen very seriously; absolutely nothing was out of place. Opening a cupboard to retrieve a skillet, Amelia was surprised to see that there was not a pot or a pan to be found. "What the hell?" she murmured aloud slightly annoyed. Had Francis been reorganizing the kitchen?!

Suddenly, she spied a piece of paper sitting ostentatiously in the center of the cupboard that used to hold her pots and pans. Taking the paper in her hands, she realized that it appeared to be a handmade card, with a picture of what she assumed to be a self portrait of Francis on the top. Raising an eyebrow, Amelia opened the card and read the curly-scripted message within:

"There will be NO Arthurs cooking in MY kitchen, Lapin!

All of the pots, pans, bowls, and other cookware have been taken to

my room for safe keeping.

Bon Appétit!"

Amelia stared at the card blankly for a few moments before throwing it back in the cupboard with a huff. She swore she could almost hear the Frenchman's annoying, stereotypical laugh at the end of the note. Apparently Francis had a contingency plan for when—uhh…if—the Englishman returned and tried to invade the kitchen again.

"Cold cereal it is…" she sighed, walking to the pantry, relieved that it wasn't booby trapped by the Frenchman.

Thankful that there were still cereal bowls and spoons in the kitchen, Amelia settled down at the table for her lonely meal. The house was too quiet for her taste, although knowing that Maddie and Francis were sleeping in the rooms nearby was comforting, it was too still. What was she going to do while she waited for the others to wake up?

Taking her cell and scrolling through social media, Amelia suddenly had an idea. Scooping some cereal into her mouth, the pop star exited out of her apps and began to compose a message.

 **Amelia: Hey, you up?**

She placed her phone down and stared at it expectantly. Was it too much to hope for? She twisted the teddy bear ring around her finger. Come on, dude!

A loud jingle announced the arrival of a new message. Nearly squealing in delight, Amelia snatched the mobile from the tabletop and opened the message.

 **Gilly: Kesse! It is unawesome to awaken the Awesome Me so early in the morning! What do you want?!**

Amelia smirked and took another bite of breakfast before replying to the albino's message.

 **Amelia: You up for an early morning adventure at the Opera House?**

 **Gilly: Are you asking me to steal Vati's keys and loiter in the Opera House with you?**

 **Amelia: Well…if you don't think you're AWESOME enough to handle it…:3**

 **Gilly: Suck it, LOSER! See you in an hour.**

The American fist pumped silently, she knew Gil wouldn't let her down.

After taking her bowl to the kitchen and placing it in the dishwasher, Amelia rushed up to her room. Grabbing her jacket and her bag, Amelia scrawled a quick note to her sister before running down the stairs, attaching the note to a bottle of maple syrup, and bounding out the door.

* * *

"So, tell me, why are you hanging out with Kirkland, again?" Gilbert drawled, his silvery hair dusty and his cheeks smeared with dirt. Amelia guessed that she didn't look much better, crawling around behind and under the stage was dirty work. On the bright side, she was fairly sure that they had successfully found all of the secret passageways and trapdoors that the stage had to hide.

Struggling with a cobweb caught in her hair, Amelia shrugged. "The Prez seems to be under the impression that the Agency needs a paparazzi boost…"

The Albino gave a low whistle, "And you agreed to be the sacrificial lamb? That's rough…" he stretched and tried to stifle a yawn.

"Don't do that, Gil," Amelia yawned. They had been exploring for a few hours now and it was nearing seven o' clock. She stretched her sore muscles and fought against the exhaustion that weighed in her bones.

"Nightmares again, huh?"Gilbert raised a pale brow before turning and walking to the edge of the stage.

Amelia nodded. "Yeah, you got it," she admitted, following the German. "I didn't want to wake Maddie, you know how she worries…"

"Ja," Gil nodded, hopping off the stage. "How is the little birdie?" He asked, offering a hand to Amelia.

The American ignored the hand and leapt off the stage by herself, sticking the landing right next to her friend. "If you're asking if there is any chance that she'll date you, don't get your hopes up. She's still pretty pissed that you said that Emma's waffles were the best. In Maddie's book, that's high treason against pancake kind." Amelia smirked, it was adorable how worked up her sister could get over the weirdest of things. "Besides, aren't you chasing after Ms. Elizabeta these days?"

"Kessesse! The Awesome Me chases after no one!" Amelia rolled her eyes at the Albino's declaration. "Besides, they were Belgian Waffles, how could I resist?" Gilbert flopped down on one of the auditorium seats, right in front of the orchestra area.

Once again, Amelia rolled her eyes and yawned, falling into a seat right next to Gilbert. "I'll be sure to let her know…" She said dryly, leaning her head against Gilbert's shoulder. "We have two more hours before Arthur and Francis arrive, what should we do next?" There was no answer. Looking up, Amelia saw that the platinum blond had dozed off in the few minutes they had been sitting in the chairs. Immediately, the American jabbed him hard in the ribs, "Gil!"

"OWW!" The boy yelped, muttering in German under his breath. "Little Bird, surely a nap couldn't hurt." Amelia looked at him skeptically. Gilbert grinned, "I'll be here to chase the bad dreams away!"

Amelia bit her lip. She was really tired…maybe the dream wouldn't return. It had been over four hours since she'd woken from the nightmare…

"Fine," she conceded, resting against the German and closing her eyes. "But wake me up if anything happens."

"Of course," The platinum blond nodded, yawning.

It didn't take long before they were fast asleep.

 _There it was…the blood red door. Amelia's hand quivered. It was the dead of night and Francis was waiting outside with the car, ready to leave at anytime. Tomorrow was the final court date, the day (with any luck) that she would be free._

 _She hadn't told anyone that she was leaving the dorm; not Alastair, not Arthur, not even Maddie. Leaving would just be too painful. Though…if she were being honest, this felt as though she were running away. Hell, she WAS running away. She had to…if she didn't Arthur would succeed in convincing her to stay. In truth, she didn't want to leave, but…_

 _The door seemed to beckon to her. Taking a breath and remembering that Francis wouldn't wait forever, Amelia turned the handle, stomach twisting as the door creaked open. Light spilled into the room and the girl could hear soft snoring from within._

 _She walked into the room, heart pounding against her rib cage. Coming to a bed, she wondered momentarily if she should run._

 _The sleeper's breath hitched and Amelia froze, praying that he wouldn't wake up. She just needed to say goodbye; that was all. As the breathing resumed, Amelia worked up the courage to sneak closer. Not only would the Frenchman grow impatient but the longer she lingered, the higher her chances of being caught—she had to be quick._

 _Looking down, Amelia felt her lips pucker into a small pout. On the bed, Arthur lay curled into himself, knees pressed to his chest, arms clinging to a pillow, a scowl on his sleeping face. He was breathing hard—most likely having a vivid dream, a bad one by the looks of it._

 _Amelia cautiously reached out a hand. When the sleeper did not wake, she gently stroked her fingers through his messy hair. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I really am."_

 _She could smell rum on him. Alastair, Dylan, and Reiley had all gone out to try to get their youngest band mate's mind off of what she was about to do. Apparently, all they'd been able to do was let him drink himself to sleep._

 _In the dim light streaming in from the door, the girl could just make out the silvery lines across his cheek bone that suggested dried tears. Oh God, why had she decided to do this?! She should have run when she had the chance! Best to make this quick and leave without causing anymore damage._

 _Kneeling down, she looked his features over: soft lashes resting on cheek bones; smooth, pale skin..._

 _"Goodbye, Arthur…" She regarded his slightly parted lips. It would be so easy… She shook her head. No, but that would be wrong! Instead, she ran her fingers through his hair once more before kneeling down and placing a tender kiss on his temple._

 _Biting her lip and fighting tears, she prepared to stand and leave when a hand caught her wrist._

 _"Amelia..?"_

 _No… She slowly turned to see him looking up, green eyes trained on her. "Arthur, I…" she stopped. There was no light in his eyes, no recognition. He was asleep, wasn't he?_

 _Before she knew what was happening, a hand cupped her cheek and two soft, warm lips met hers. Her heart skipped a beat before taking off like a runaway train. Though it was startling, Amelia slowly closed her wide eyes and let the kiss happen. Surprisingly she couldn't taste the alcohol on his breath; all she could taste was the salt of tears and the wrenching ache of sorrow and loss._

 _Gently, his lips were pulled away. Amelia opened her eyes to meet his, fresh tears pooled around green irises. The Brit's eyes were unfocused, if sad. Guilt flooded her senses, had she just taken advantage of his state? He was definitely still half asleep, unlikely to remember any of this in his stupefied condition she should have pulled away. But, she hadn't wanted to..._

 _"Lay down, Arthur," she murmured, stroking his hair once more, applying slight pressure to guide him down to his bed. He didn't fight it, rather he laid his head on the pillow with tears dropping and staining the sheets. It wouldn't take long, he was already blinking slowly as his body tried to reclaim sleep._

 _"Amelia…" he murmured weakly, moving to touch her hand that had begun to wipe away his tears._

 _"Shhh…" she shushed him, his hand clasped over hers._

 _As his eyes closed once more, she placed his hand on the pillow, but continued to stroke his cheeks with her thumb until his breathing evened once again. This time, tears cascaded down her cheeks and she covered her mouth to muffle the sounds of the sobs that threatened to rack her body…_

"Amelia…" a voice called her from the void. Damn that dream. Damn the ghosts of the past...

Her eyes slid easily wake and she could feel very real tears streaming down her cheeks. Blinking, she tried to catch her breath as the vestiges of the dream flittered away. She attempted to move her hand to brush the droplets away, only to find that someone was holding her hands.

Looking up, her eyes latched to a pair of lime green irises staring her own blue ones.

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 **As always, thank you all for reading, favoriting, and/or following this story :3**

 **A special thank you goes out to WhiteXTrainer00, Darkabyssoflove, and guest for commenting. It is so good to know that you like what has been written for this story! I hope that this chapter stands up to your expectations. Again, thank you!**

 **To the guest (is that you Buttery Toast Babe? If so, welcome back!), sorry for the wait. This chapter was difficult to write-though I suppose I think that of every chapter.**

 **Wow! Chapter 10! I never imagined I'd get this far or continue this far. That's pretty cool :)**

 **Anyway, I hope the layout of this chapter wasn't too confusing. A lot of exposition here, though I thought it would be good to add a little background information for Amelia. What do you think?**

 **Gilbert: Prussia**

 **Emma: Belgium**

 **Elizabeta: Hungary**

 **'Til Next Time! Xoxo**

 **Published 26/1/2017**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

Tossing and turning, slumber continued to elude the Brit. He'd slept on and off for the past few hours, though it was looking as if insomnia was winning the war.

It wasn't the New York traffic buzzing outside his seventh floor bedroom or the noise of the television that one of his brothers had left on in the other room while they went out drinking. No, this was the hum of his mind as he tried desperately to stop thinking about how shamefully he had behaved toward Amelia.

He had to do something; he _had_ to do something. He had to apologize… But how..? Growling, Arthur punched his pillow, before falling back onto the bed with a huff. Think about something else, he commanded.

Had Mathia known what she was talking about? Not the thought he really wanted to explore, but it provided a nice change. Had Amelia been the one to end the relationship between herself and the Russian? The Dane could be a bit harebrained, but if Amelia had told anyone the truth, Madeline and Mathia were the two most likely to know anything. Yes, there was a good chance that she did indeed know what went on with the Yank and the dancer. Why else would she have looked so guilty when she'd realized what she had said?

The main door to the Kirkland Suite opened and Arthur could hear his brothers stumbling in. It was later than he had thought if they were just getting back. Muffled sounds of heavy footfalls leading into the other bedrooms were apparent and someone had finally turned off that damned television.

Sighing, the rock star sat up and ventured out of his room, intent on brewing some chamomile tea to try to quiet his restless mind. Arthur was mildly surprised to see Dylan in the kitchen, reading a magazine at the bar with a paper coffee cup in his hand.

"I'm surprised you're awake," the elder brother murmured, not taking his eyes off of the article he was reading.

Arthur froze. "Er—I…I haven't been sleeping well," he admitted. "Why aren't _you_ in bed, sleeping it off?" When the brothers went out to drink, they usually came home absolutely legless. Arthur moved to put some water in the kettle.

"Got an appointment with Vlad later today, thought it would be best if one of us wasn't completely hung-over," Dylan mumbled, stretching with a sigh. "What's your excuse? Conscience eating you alive?"

The clock on the stove read 3:03 am. Arthur clicked his tongue in disdain before turning back to his second eldest brother. "I don't see how it would be any of your business." He snapped, waiting for the water to boil.

Dylan rolled his eyes, standing from his seat and walking into the kitchen. "As if I don't know…" He took a delicate tea cup from the cupboard and went to the tea canister that the brothers kept on the counter. "You're likely obsessing over her like you did back then." The Welshman took out a pale yellow teabag and placed it in the cup before handing it to his younger brother. "Am I wrong?"

"You—I—I mean—" Arthur stammered. He paused to catch his breath and looked down to the delicate china he held in his hands. "Chamomile?" he asked.

Shrugging, Dylan returned to his seat and resumed reading his magazine. "I know you. I also know that you like two teaspoons of honey in your tea, but you know where that is…" Arthur blinked in disbelief. "As for Amelia," the elder brother continued thoughtfully, "Take her some coffee when you see her and apologize—it isn't that difficult. Tell her that you are a daft tosser who is dead from the neck up." He took a sip from his drink before adding, "And be sincere about it!"

"Talking to you never fails to make me feel better," Arthur muttered dryly, cringing at his brother's lack of restraint when throwing out insults. But he had a point, Arthur thought; pouring hot water into the cup. Perhaps he could take Amelia somewhere tomorrow—er, later today after the lesson with the Frog. In addition to the coffee, he could also pick up some breakfast pastries. He wouldn't have the ingredients to bake them himself however; hopefully the American wouldn't be too disappointed by pastries from a shop. "I'll need a car," he mused aloud.

"Already signed one out under your name," Dylan tossed the Englishman a small chain of keys. Caught off guard, Arthur fumbled to catch the keys and shot his brother an angry glance. Dylan was unfazed. "Plus, your new security key—remember, all doors automatically lock at eleven PM."

"Yes, well, this would've been good to have a few days ago…" Arthur mumbled, recalling the circumstances around his impromptu stay at the American's house. However, he was taken aback at his brother's foresight and thoughtfulness. "Thank you," he murmured, turning to add honey to his tea and half-hoping that his Welsh brother hadn't heard anything.

Dylan nodded. "Well, I'm going to bed," he stood, "and you best get some sleep as well." He turned toward his bedroom and waved offhandedly. "Goodnight, Artie…"

"Goodnight," Arthur replied, sipping his tea. He turned to the magazine that his brother had been reading. Sure enough, it was turned to a page that prominently displayed a picture of that damned picture with Braginsky, Amelia, and himself. Scowling, he sipped his tea, even Dylan was reading this rubbish? Grabbing the corners of the pages and fully prepared to slam the publication shut, something caught the Brit's eye.

In addition to the highly embarrassing picture, this article had published others. There were photos from when Amelia had first joined the Beasts of Britannia; when Madeline joined; pictures of the girls performing with the band and others lined within the corners of the glossy pages. Arthur smiled; they were pictures of better days. Just seeing these images made Arthur long to go back to that time.

What was this article about anyway? He flipped through the pages, looking for the title of the piece.

"'The Beauty and the Beast: The History Between Amelia Jones and Arthur Kirkland Revealed,'" Arthur rolled his eyes, who even came up with this drivel?! There was a name beneath the title: Feliks Lukasiewicz. One of Vargas' gossip columnists, he should have known.

Closing the magazine, the rock star took his cup and saucer and headed to his room. He was hoping for another hour or so of sleep before he was to put his plan into action.

* * *

Pulling up to the Opera House, Arthur noticed three other cars in the private garage: Amelia's black truck; a dark blue jeep; and an obnoxiously red convertible. The worst part—there was an annoyingly familiar Spaniard currently leaning against the convertible and chatting with an all too recognizable Frenchman. Putting the car into park, Arthur took a breath to brace himself for what he knew was about to come.

The rock star exited the car, taking care to grab the pink pastry box from the back as well as the tray of coffees he'd brought. Rolling his eyes as the overly affectionate greetings between Francis and Antonio, Arthur entered the opera house.

It was cool and dark, as though no one had bothered to turn on the lights or heater. Arthur walked into the auditorium where someone was speaking rapidly. For some reason the voice sounded panicked—almost shrill. A chill went up the Brit's spine.

There was Gilbert Beilshmidt, the eldest child of the agency's vice-president, kneeling in front of one of the theatre seats. It was his voice that was growing more and more concerning.

"This isn't funny, Little Bird," Arthur could hear the albino plead, he looked frightened.

Nearing the German, Arthur called out, "What are you doing, Gilbert?"

The white haired man looked up. "She took a nap and now, she's crying!" Arthur inhaled and ran to where Gilbert was slowly losing his cool. "Wake up, Kid, wake up…" Gilbert sang nervously, poking the girl in the shoulder.

"Are you daft?!" Arthur snarled, brushing the German's hand away from Amelia. "That is NOT how you wake someone from a nightmare." The American was asleep—almost peacefully so. Had it not been for the water streaming from her closed eyes and the slightest quivering of her pouting lips, he would've thought that she was dreaming of sweet things.

"Kesse!" Gilbert exclaimed, "Women crying ARE my worst nightmare!" He seemed relieved that someone else had come to save him, pathetic. "I don't know how to handle THAT!"

Arthur shoved the pink box with the coffees balanced on top into the Germans arms and pushed him away, "Then make yourself useful and hold these." He snapped, kneeling in front of the American. First he looked up to the American's face and brought his hand to her cheek, giving it a soft pat. "Amelia, wake up," he whispered. Amelia barely moved, shifting her head slightly and whimpering.

Bollocks, she was in a deep sleep…he would have to try harder. Brushing some hair from the girl's face, Arthur noticed that her hands were balled into fists and shaking. Taking a hold of them, he couldn't help but notice how cold they were. He held them tightly.

"Amelia…" he called, a little more loudly than before and giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. The shaking stopped. The girl's eyes opened obediently, filled with tears and a little puffy but still the brilliant blue that made the Brit's heart melt. She moved to wipe the tears from her face, still sniffling and apparently unaware that her hands were being held. Until she met resistance.

Lifting her gaze, Amelia's eyes looked straight into Arthur's. She blinked a few times, as though unsure if what she was seeing was real. Arthur released her hands and was surprised when they did not immediately move to wipe the tears from her eyes. In fact, more tears soon began to gather.

Smiling and shaking his head, Arthur reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the handkerchief that Riley always teased him for carrying. What the git didn't realize was that, just because one was a rock star did not mean that one could not be civilized and genteel. He took the soft cloth to the American's face and began to dab, taking care not to be too rough.

"You're alright, there's nothing to fear," he reassured her, as he continued to clean her face.

"A-Arthur..?" The Brit looked up, surprised to see that Amelia's eyes still seemed glassy and dreamy. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek with cool fingertips.

"Yes," he nodded, "I'm here."

Before Arthur knew what was happening, Amelia had launched herself against him. Her arms quickly wrapped themselves around his neck as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Fighting to keep his balance, Arthur was surprised at the American's response. Believe it or not, Amelia was a very hard girl to scare—unless ghosts were involved, but that was another story. What had she been dreaming about?

He could feel her body shaking against his and hear her whimpering, trying to hold back sobs. Cautiously, Arthur allowed his arms to come to rest around Amelia: one holding the small of her back and the other pressed in the space between her shoulder blades. She really was like a child at times.

"Shhh…shhh…It's alright, I'm here. I won't let you go," what possessed him to utter those specific words, he did not know. All the rock star did know was that they seemed to be working as the girl began to quiet. She was no longer shaking and her breath became more even. Arthur smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, that's it, Love."

The breathing stopped and Amelia pulled away from the Brit. Stung, Arthur looked up and was met with the girl's slightly bloodshot eyes and a small smile. "I can't remember the last time you called me that…" she murmured.

"Called you what?" He asked gently. Honestly, the girl was making less sense than usual.

"'Love,'" Amelia answered. Arthur felt his breath leave him. How long had it been since he'd called the Yank by anything but her name? Well, her name and the plethora of insults he usually reserved for his brothers. "It's nice…"

Arthur felt his cheeks grow warm. "Well…I…er—"

"Is it over yet?!" a third voice interrupted from behind. Arthur felt his eye twitch. He'd all but forgotten about the Albino German lurking in the background.

"Yes, it is. No thanks to you." The Brit snapped. Turning his head to face the other man, Arthur saw that Gilbert had helped himself to one of the donuts—the pastry box and coffees abandoned on the stage. Rolling his eyes, Arthur turned back to Amelia who was wiping her eyes with her hands, but smiling. "Are you alright, Love?"

Amelia smiled more and nodded.

"Mon Dieu!" Francis was sprinting toward the couple, Antonio not far behind. "Ma Chérie, are you okay?" Concern was written on his face, though the Frenchman still was able to give Arthur a cold look from the corner of his eye.

"I'm fine," Amelia nodded, pulling away from Arthur completely and standing. "Just…embarrassed."

"Nightmares again?" The Frenchman asked, folding his arms. "Is that why you left so early and left a note for your sister?" Amelia looked sheepish.

Francis sighed and waved the girl away. "Go wash your face, Chérie. We will begin shortly."

Watching Amelia bound away, Arthur looked at Francis and raised an eyebrow. "Nightmares? Are these a common occurrence?"

The Frenchman glanced at the Brit, looking him up and down as though evaluating the situation. Sighing again and running a hand through his hair, Francis nodded. "I would not say common—but it does happen from time to time, usually when she's stressed." He took a breath and started walking toward the stage but stopped upon seeing the albino talking quietly with Antonio. "Gilbert, what are you doing here?" the delight was obvious in his voice.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio together again—the former members of a band called "BTT" though no one knew how that name came about or what the acronym meant. They had broken up years ago to pursue other careers—though they still were a pain in the arse for the Englishman.

Ignoring the vexing threesome's conversation, Arthur walked over to the stage and took his cup of tea from the abandoned drink carriage. It was still hot—well, pleasantly warm at least. Most importantly, the caffeine allowed him to plan out his next move. He had hoped to catch Amelia before the lesson in order to apologize properly. He hadn't planned on walking in the middle of…of whatever that was… It definitely threw a wrench in his plan; a very awkward wrench.

"Hey, Arthur." Looking up, the Brit saw the American standing over him on the stage. There was hardly a trace of the tears left on her face. Save for the light bags and slight redness of her eyes, the girl looked almost back to normal.

"Hello, yourself," Arthur answered. Well, if nothing else he still had the coffee and treats he'd picked up, they could help smooth over the situation. He took one of the iced coffees from the carrier and lifted it above his head towards the pop star. "Here," the rocker muttered, avoiding the girl's gaze. The cold cup was gingerly taken from his grip.

"Thanks, Arthur. This is really nice." There was what sounded like awe in her voice. She didn't have to be so bloody surprised! But, then again, perhaps he deserved it.

Looking up, the Brit wasn't surprised to see that the girl already had the straw in her mouth and was drinking the caffeinated beverage eagerly, her blue eyes studying him the whole while. Arthur felt his cheeks grow hot. He pushed the pink box close to the girl and then looked away. "I also brought breakfast…if you want some…"

There was silence, looking back up to the stage; Arthur saw that the girl hadn't moved, although her stare was now quizzical. She knelt down and set the coffee aside, opening the box with care. "What's the occasion, Artie?" She smiled upon seeing the various muffins and donuts that the box contained and seated herself on the edge of the stage, right next to where the rock star was leaning.

"Well…I really behaved terribly yesterday. It wasn't right and I wanted to a-apologize and I thought that you'd like these and…" Oh, God. This wasn't good. He was rambling. What was it that Dylan had told him to say? Even that would be better that spewing out this dreadful excuse for an apology.

Stopping and taking a breath, the Brit tried to continue. "Anyway, I am sorry, Amelia. I don't know why I snapped like I did." This was excruciating. His heart was hammering; mind swimming; he was practically choking on the acrobatics required to form each word: but he persevered. "I really don't hate being around you. If you'll allow me, I'd like it if we could spend some time together after the Frog's lesson…" Arthur was nearly gasping for breath. He had done it, he'd really done it. He'd been able to apologize without (completely) blanking out and choking on his words.

Amelia blinked a few times. "Wow, thanks Arthur. But, we really don't have to if you don't want to." She grinned, selecting a chocolate donut with red, white, and blue sprinkles from the package. "I'm just really happy that you're not mad anymore!"

"Of course I want to spend time with you!" Arthur exclaimed, surprising himself. It was shocking how honest that statement was and frustrating how dense the American could be.

A rosy hue pooled in the American's cheeks and the girl looked away. "Well, I mean, if you really want to…" she teased, turning back and winking at the rock star playfully. How the hell did she always do that?

"Hmmm…it appears that you both have made more progress than I had expected," The Frenchman's voice cut in, not allowing the Brit to ponder the curious sensation in his chest. Amelia stood as Francis climbed the steps to the stage, holding a large binder, likely given to him by Vargas. "For my lesson, you will learn how to act as though you comprehend l'amour." He pressed a script book into Amelia's arms, and glanced down at Arthur who was still leaning against the stage. "Bien, allez!"

Arthur supposed that that meant something along the lines of "Get on the stage." He made sure that the Frog saw him roll his eyes before moving toward the steps.

"Now, we will be going over a relationship within this show and analyzing how it affects how the story unravels." He winked as Arthur joined them, roughly pressing another script book into the Brit's torso. "I picked this show specifically with you in mind, Lapin…" his singsong voice was quite irritating. What the bloody hell did he mean; the show had been selected with him in mind?

Flipping through the book, Arthur saw that it was not really a script at all; rather it held character descriptions and a few selected excerpts from a very well known play. He loved this play: it was beloved; a classic; written by a Brit. Even so, the rock star felt a twinge of irritation at the Frenchman for insinuating the likeness.

" _The Phantom of the Opera_?" Amelia read aloud, she smiled. "Dude! I love that movie!"

Arthur shook his head, momentarily distracted from Francis' smirking face. "It is a Show, more specifically a Musical Show." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

The American thought for a moment. "Oh, like the show that we went to see for your birthday a few years ago?" She bit her lip, trying hard to remember something. "Oh! I think it was called 'Mac—'" Arthur dove and pressed a hand over the girl's lips.

"Unless the next word out of your mouth is 'Donald's' please refrain from saying that name while we're in the theatre." He took a breath, relieved to have stopped the foolish girl in time. "Otherwise you'll unleash the curse." Not that they weren't already cursed—Vargas seemed to be doing everything in his power to make this process as awkward as possible. He released the girl, "But yes, before it was made into a movie, it was a Musical performed in Her Majesty's Theatre."

Francis nodded, "Oui, it is a British Musical, based on the French novel _Le Fantôme de l'Opera._ Which makes it perfect for our study! Now, let's get started," he led the musicians to some chairs that had been situated upstage. "Now, the play stars a mysterious phantom and a beautiful, young starlet in the midst of Victorian times." He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his blazer pocket and slipped them on. "Arthur, describe the starlet, Christine, in your own words s'il vous plaît."

"Well," Arthur thought aloud. "In the musical, she is portrayed as naïve—almost childlike. She is an orphan who is controlled by either the opera house's proprietors or else the Phantom himself. The plot centers on her two love interests, between whom, she is torn. There is Raoul, the hero who eventually comes to represent light, beauty, and freedom. Then there is the Phantom who transforms from a fatherly, teacher and protector…" Wait…was this what the Frog… Arthur glared at the Frenchman whose eyes were locked with his. "…into an obsessed, lustful suitor. Figuratively, he comes to be the opposite of Raoul and represents darkness, danger, and passion."

"Oui, trés bien, Lapin!" There was more than simple mirth hidden behind the Frenchman's face as he congratulated the Brit on his impression of the characters. "I knew that you'd be able to astutely analyze the relationship between Am—ah, Christine and the Phantom." That mock slip of the tongue was no accident; Francis was making sure that Arthur understood the situation. Arthur narrowed his eyes, yes, the Frog was angry with him.

"Even though Christine ended up with Raoul," Amelia interjected, "I always thought that, maybe the Phantom wasn't so bad." Arthur shot Francis a victorious smirk. "I don't really analyze these things, but to me he always just seemed sad and lonely…and maybe jealous. In his place, I'd want to keep my closest friend with me too…"

Francis shook his head, "But, ma petite, if given the choice, who would you choose?"

Amelia shrugged. "I…dunno…"

The Frenchman shot another glance at the Brit, his indigo eyes challenging Arthur to sway the girls mind. "Alright, then let us begin."

"Sweet!" the American grinned. "I call playing the Phantom!"

 ***Bien, allez – Roughly, "Well, come on"**

 **Antonio=Spain**

 **Feliks=Poland**

 **Happy Valentine's Day!**

 **Well, a combination of life and the lack of inspiration/drive made this chapter a nightmare of my own. Just a fair warning, this may cause updates to be slower than initially projected-I'll try to be timely, but I think it would be unfair not to give anyone who reads this a heads-up. Not to worry, I have absolutely NO plans to abandon this story, it just may take a little longer. I hope you'll bear with me!**

 **Reviews are not only welcomed, but super appreciated! Thank you, Darkabyssoflove. Your review made my week! Seriously, I am so happy that someone likes what I write. Thank you!**

 **Also, a big thank you to anyone who followed or favorited, you all are amazing!**

' **Til Next Time!**

 **Published: 10/2/2017**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

Once again, Amelia found herself forced into a dress by the fashion obsessed Frenchman, only this time she also found herself wearing a long, curly, brunette wig. She would have been more annoyed, had she been the only one in costume…

Amelia couldn't keep from grinning as she watched Arthur walk around the stage, dressed in a suit with a cape and a crescent, half-face mask. Even with only Gilbert and Antonio giggling in the audience, the Brit moved as though he owned the stage. Masterfully, he went through the lines that Francis had given him, blocking the scene as he went along. It really shouldn't be any surprise; Arthur always took these types of things seriously.

Suddenly, he turned toward Amelia, reciting his lines with great passion. He reached out a hand to her, locking his eyes to hers. Oh wow, were his eyes always so green? They looked vibrant in the stage lighting, almost as though they were glowing.

"Amelia!" a voice hissed from the side. Turning, the American saw Francis looking at her expectantly. "Your lines!"

Oh, crap! She racked her brain, trying to recall what it was that she was supposed to say. What was it, what was it?! Looking up, she looked to Arthur for help. Nope, his eyes were still WAY too distracting.

The rock star took a step forward and then another. As he closed in on her, Amelia began taking steps back. Soon, she felt her back brush up against the background, but the rock star kept advancing until he was right in front of her. Though she couldn't remember what she was supposed to say or do for this scene, Amelia knew that this was not part of the script that Francis had written out—the Brit was making this up as he went along. The tips of their shoes were almost touching and Arthur slammed his hands against the rough wooden backdrop, effectively pinning the American where she stood.

"Why won't you sing for me, My Angel?" The Phantom murmured. Slowly glancing up from the floor, Amelia met an intense stare. Just inches above her face was Arthur, leaning into her as though trying to illicit a reaction. But all the girl could do was stare back at the Englishman, feeling her face grow warm. He must be able to hear her heartbeat, he was so close! She could even smell the soft, musky scent of the cologne he was wearing—she felt hot all over. What was she supposed to do? What was her line?!

"Cut." Francis called dejectedly, breaking the scene. "Why don't we stop there for today?" Arthur dropped his arms. Amelia was both relieved and a little disappointed. "I don't think going over the scene again will help," the fashion designer rubbed his face with one hand. "Take a seat, s'il vous plait." The musicians obeyed and returned to their seats. "I believe I'll blame your performance today on your lack of sleep," Francis sighed.

"What are you talking about, mi amigo?" Antonio asked as he climbed the last few steps to the stage, pausing for a moment to wave toward the auditorium. Glancing that way, Amelia saw Gilly slink out of the Opera house, shooting her a sly smirk as he did. The American sighed and tried to focus on the model's review. "What I saw was muy bueno, much better than what you have been describing to me." The green-eyed Spaniard crossed the stage and came to stand next to Francis.

Francis rolled his eyes and signed, "Perhaps, mon amie, but it is still not nearly good enough for this weekend."

"And, please, tell us what you have planned for this weekend, Frog." Arthur quarried, slipping the mask from his face and shoving it in the Frenchman's direction. Francis frowned, took the mask and gave the Brit a reproachful look.

"Actually," Antonio cut in, stepping between Francis and Arthur, "tonight we need to travel to California in order to pick up supplies for the costumes that Francis is designing for the Anniversary Show." The Spaniard winked conspiringly. "But that doesn't mean that there won't be time to go to have fun at the beaches! We are taking a long weekend and aren't coming back until Sunday evening." Hmm…they were going to the west coast?!

"I wanna go to the beach! I wanna to go to the beach!" Amelia cheered, jumping up from her seat and shaking off the lingering feeling of embarrassment. A trip to the beach was just what she needed to shake off these stupid nightmares and maybe figure out what the hell happened today during Francy-Pants' lesson.

Arthur tried to ignore the American's outburst—it was obvious by the amount of effort that showed on his face. Instead, he glared directly ahead to Francis and Antonio. "Pity," he muttered dryly, "Does that mean that we're getting a break from these rubbish lessons?"

"Not exactly," Antonio shot a glance to Francis and smirked. "Actually, we've arranged for you both to come to California as well."

"Seriously?!" Amelia squealed. Arthur looked less than thrilled.

"Why can't you just go on this little field trip on your own?" He crossed his arms with a huff.

Francis sighed, "Come now, Lapin, it will be fun. I will be helping Toni with your next lesson and dressing you both up for the cute little dates that we have planned for you!"

"Well, that makes it ALL better…" Arthur rolled his eyes

Amelia smiled, while she didn't like the idea of being Francis' personal, living doll, the plan wasn't ALL bad… "As long as we can go to the beach, I don't care." She declared.

"Of course, Madeline is invited as well. She's going to keep an eye on you both while Antonio and I take care of business." Francis confirmed, nodding. "And if I were you, ma chérie, I would send your sister a message or give her a call." His eyes locked with Amelia's and were impossibly stern. "She was very worried this morning when we awoke to find you missing. The only reason that she isn't here now is because she had to make arrangements for this weekend's trip," he flipped his golden locks, "and because I promised to make sure that you were okay."

Wincing, Amelia looked down, "I didn't mean to make her worry…" She took her phone out, only to see that she had missed three phone calls; one voice mail; and seven messages awaiting her attention. "I'll go call her right now…" she stood and excused herself from the group.

"And change into the clothes that I brought for you!" She heard the Frenchman call. Though she was loathe to comply with his request, she had to admit, her clothes were filthy from her adventures under the opera house with Gil this morning.

Walking into one of the dressing rooms backstage, Amelia waited for her sister to answer, only to be sent to voicemail. She took a shaky breath before leaving a message. "Hey…It's me…sorry for making you worry—I'm okay," she ran a hand through her hair, her heart was racing and she felt slightly out of breath. No wonder Maddie always knew when she was lying. "Um…I guess I'll see you tonight." It was weird talking to silence. "I love you." She hung up the phone, relieved to have avoided the Canadian's wrath, but knowing well that her sister would lecture her profusely later that evening.

Looking into a mirror she was startled to see the girl that she saw looking back at her. Slightly bloodshot eyes; flowing dress; long, curly brunette hair…oh, right, the wig…

Amelia took a breath, took the wig off, and changed into the blouse and skirt that she found hanging on the door—likely placed there earlier by Francis. Then she walked out of the dressing room, just in time to almost meet a fist to the face. Arthur froze, knuckles posed to knock on a door that was no longer there. For a moment the pair just stood there, staring at each other.

"Erm, hello Amelia," Arthur said, lowering his hand.

"Hi…" Amelia stroked a stray strand of hair from her face in vain and looked down when she felt her cheeks warm slightly. But, she wanted to see him; slowly she glanced back to the Brit who also looked a bit taken aback.

"Francis is letting us out early today as he needs to take care of some business before we catch the plane tonight. So, I wanted to know if you'd like to accompany me for lunch."

Amelia blinked a few times, trying to register what Arthur was asking. Could he possibly want to hang out with her? Like, outside of the mandatory classes and dates? Huh, well he had said that he wanted to spend more time with her, right? She could feel her heart flutter hopefully in her chest.

The pop star searched the rocker's face and allowed her eyes to lock into his. Yep, they were still impossibly green, but more importantly, they were completely serious. Arthur really did want to go to lunch with her—he really did! Her gaze traveled a bit lower, to his lips. They looked smooth and soft, just as she remembered… Wait, no, no thinking about that—nope, not thinking about those memories—totally not!

"Amelia?" a British voice inquired. "Are you alright?"

"S-sorry!" Amelia stammered, "I'm fine! Just…a little tired!" She gave, what she hoped, was a convincing smile. "What were we talking about?"

Arthur sighed and gave an exasperated smile, "I was asking if you wanted to go to lunch with me, but perhaps I ought to drive you home instead. You appear to be exhausted." He moved to stroke the stubborn piece of hair from the pop star's face, though Amelia was fairly sure that he was checking her temperature as his fingers brushed against her cheekbone.

"Dude! Lunch sounds great!" She gently took his hand from the side of her face, pleasantly surprised by its warmth in her own. "But I'm fine; you don't need to drive me anywhere." The statement probably would've been more persuasive had she been able to stifle the yawn that followed directly after.

"Hmm…" Arthur hummed, raising an eyebrow. "How about, if you let Francis drive your truck home, I'll let you have the window seat in the plane later. Deal?" He made no move to pull his hand away from hers.

Amelia rolled her eyes but smirked, "Fine, it's a deal!" She squeezed his hand. "So, what were you think'in for lunch?"

* * *

"I'm surprised, I didn't think that you could have any interest in eating at a burger place," Amelia marveled, looking from her burger and fries to the face of the sullen man sitting across from her. To his credit, Arthur hadn't ordered a burger, he had decided on a sandwich with a small, green salad instead of fries—which he insisted upon calling "chips".

Arthur lowered the tea that he had been drinking and gave a small smile. "It seemed like you were having a bad morning. I thought you'd like some…" he eyed the American's meal doubtfully, "'comfort food.'"

Amelia smiled and glanced around the restaurant. It was a trendy spot for teenagers with its bright décor and simple menu. There was a dance floor where a few patrons moved to the beat of a pop song that was being played throughout the eatery. She had even gotten Arthur to dance with her while they had been waiting for their orders. Well, perhaps not dance…but he stood by her while she moved to the bouncy music—it was a start.

Other than signing a few autographs for a few of the other patrons who had recognized them in the restaurant, Amelia and, she assumed, Arthur were both very happy about the lack of paparazzi. Any type of privacy was a luxury whenever President Vargas was concerned. But, then again, who knew? Perhaps he had spies watching them this very moment.

"So, are you excited about going to California for a few days?" the pop star asked before taking a bite of her lunch.

The Brit shrugged, "Not really," he answered. "I really don't much care for the beach and being in Francis and Antonio's company for days on end, doesn't sound very appealing either."

The girl almost choked when she started to laugh. "Well, we'll just have to ditch them then and have some fun!" She winked at the Brit's scandalized look. "After all, the Prez won't mind as long as we are providing the paparazzi opportunities to make up stories, right?"

"Right," Arthur agreed quietly. The conversation came to a halt as the two musicians continued to eat their lunch, highly aware of the stares and whispers that their presence was eliciting around them.

After a few minutes, Arthur broke the silence. "Amelia..?"

"Hmmm?" Amelia looked up, straw to her soda still in her mouth.

"Well," the blond man seemed to hesitate before asking his question, "What I mean is…er—" He looked away from Amelia. He was scowling, obviously thinking very hard about what he wanted to say. The American waited patiently, slightly amused to see her former "Brother" struggle with words.

"Artie, just ask," she implored, after tiring of watching him struggle.

"I wanted to know…when I woke you this morning…what were you dreaming about?" Amelia couldn't breathe; this was not the question that she had been expecting. A flush had grown on the Brit's cheeks and he couldn't seem to look Amelia in the eye. "I was…concerned when I saw that you were crying."

Not to mention when she threw herself into his arms and clung to him like an idiot… Amelia shook her head, cheeks burning and entirely unsure what to say—she'd never even told Maddie what really happened in those nightmares—that night. As far as her sister knew, it was a dream, simply about leaving the Beasts.

"You don't have to say if you don't want to," Arthur muttered, still unable to look the pop star in the eye.

Amelia sighed; she needed to tell him something. "Every once in a while," she explained, looking down at the table, "I dream about when—" her mouth went dry, "when I was with the Beasts."

"Oh…" Amelia looked up to see the Brit staring away from her; apparently he had not been expecting that answer.

"No, no," Amelia assured quickly, "the dream always starts out nice!" They really did, it was just the ending that always got to her. "But then, I start remembering the night that I left," her eyes felt hot and prickly. "It's like…I get trapped." There seemed to be no stopping the words pouring out of her mouth. "I know what's happening, but it's like, I'm forced to relive some of the best and worst memories that I have with the Beasts." With you, she corrected silently to herself.

Amelia felt a hand touch hers, glancing up she saw Arthur looking at her. He looked away as soon as their eyes met but his hand stayed atop of hers.

Neither of them broke the silence and neither looked the other in the eye. After a few minutes it seemed impossible for either to find a single thing to say, both seemed content to avoid eye contact while listening to the music that played over the restaurant, muffled by the cheerful voices of the other diners. They may have been content to stay like that if it hadn't been for the song that began to play.

It was one that Amelia hadn't heard in a long time—and she doubted that Arthur listened to it recently either. The American felt her heart skip a beat. Though hard to hear, there was no mistaking it: the rapid beat of drums; wail of electric guitars; and the lilting of a lone electric violin. It was the opening to one of the last songs that Amelia recorded with the Beasts, a song about love, war, and betrayal: "Revolution".

"Oh my, look at the time!" Amelia looked to Arthur who was moving very quickly, he seemed uncomfortable—scratch that, it was obvious that he was VERY uncomfortable. Slamming multiple bills on the table, enough to cover the meal plus a very generous tip, he stood and reached out and took Amelia's hand. "If we don't hurry, we will not have enough time to go pick up Maddie and be able to make it to the airport." Maybe she inherited her awful lying ability from her ex "Big Brother".

Blinking, Amelia could swear she saw a rosy flush on the Brit's cheeks as she docilely allowed herself to be led out of the restaurant. She hadn't heard this song since…since right after she left The Beasts. Given all of the media attention surrounding her case and her departure from the band, "Revolution" had been in the top ten most popular songs list for almost a year and number one for thirteen weeks straight. She'd spent the better part of that year avoiding the radio at all costs. Now, hearing it again brought back emotions that she had thought were long since buried.

"I'm terribly sorry, but something has come up and we must leave straight away," Arthur was speaking to the hostess and their server, both of whom were minding the entrance to the restaurant. "We left the payment on the table, thank you very much for the excellent service." He barely paused to address the teenagers who both looked very confused.

As they reached Arthur's car, parked on the street just a short ways away, the vocals to the song began. Amelia cringed, fighting the urge to cover her ears. Had she really sounded like that four years ago? She had sounded so young—childish, really. No wonder Arthur would never be able to see her as anything but a child.

Her agent; the teddy bear ring; the scene behind the blood red door—how was it possible that a single song could bring so many thoughts to the front of her memory. Was it suddenly hard to breathe? The pop star felt hot and her chest felt tight. _Don't think about it; don't think about it…if you think about it…the nightmares might come back tonight…_

Amelia took a breath of relief as Arthur closed her door, effectively blocking out the melody that had followed them from the restaurant. Luckily, there didn't seem to be fans or photographers in the immediate vicinity and Arthur was able to get into the car and speed away without difficulty.

After a few minutes of driving in silence, Amelia glanced over to her companion. His eyes were stuck to the road and his mouth was turned down in a soft scowl. Normally, she wouldn't have suspected anything to be wrong—Arthur always looked moderately annoyed, well, usually at least… However, she couldn't help but notice that his knuckles were turning white with the ferocity with which he clutched the steering wheel.

"Um…thanks for lunch, Arthur…" She murmured, desperately hoping that she no longer sounded like the fifteen-year-old that had recorded that song.

She could see Arthur's mouth relax slightly, though his hands remained tightly clasped to the steering wheel. "My pleasure." Silence once again filled the car.

Amelia took advantage of this opportunity to study Arthur. He really hadn't changed all too much since her days with the band, he still had messy blond hair; amazingly green eyes; and those eyebrows… She stifled a laugh; his eyebrows were still as dark and thick as she remembered them—as though they had been cursed to be that way. Amelia tilted her head, he still had his ears pierced—just some plain black studs currently. How was it possible? She had changed so much through the four years, why didn't he change?

No, she thought, no. It was like Maddie had once said, not all changes could be seen on the outside. Sometimes, a person changes the most on the inside. Man, wasn't that the truth? Arthur may look like the same cranky Brit that she had always known, but he was different. More…guarded..? She wasn't sure if that was the right way to describe it, but it was the closest she could manage. Not that she could blame him, had their roles been reversed she didn't know how she would have reacted or how her trust in others would change.

Arthur's eyes slipped from the road and Amelia immediately turned her eyes out the window, determined not to be caught looking at the rock star. She felt like she couldn't breathe when she felt those impossibly green eyes rest on her. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity—though it had probably only been a few seconds—he turned back to the road. Amelia stole another quick glance in the Brit's direction, though it seemed to be his turn to avoid making eye contact with the American. Eventually she sat back, staring at her driver was simply too risky. Instead she settled for watching the scenery rush past her window on the exceedingly familiar drive home.

* * *

Once they reached the house, it was only a matter of minutes before the twins' luggage was packed into the trunk and the cheerful Canadian was sitting in the back seat, struggling to make polite conversation. In a short while, the violet-eyed girl gave up—deciding to sit quietly.

After a quick stop to pick up Arthur's luggage, the trio made good time to the airport where Francis and Antonio were waiting in the agency's private jet and already breaking into the wine.

"Bonjour, everyone!" Francis greeted as they filed into the jet. "How was the lunch date? And, the ride over here for that matter?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively as a crooked smirk crept over his face.

Amelia didn't want to answer and she knew that Arthur didn't either; hell, they were still avoiding eye contact with each other when possible. Instead, she heard Madeline hiss in annoyance, "Please…don't ask…" She put her carry-on down and sat in the leather seat across the aisle from Antonio.

The Frenchman clicked his tongue, "Hmm…that bad?" This time, the eyebrow raise was more from curiosity than some sort of romantic conspiracy.

"Can we please just take our seats and start this bloody trip?" Arthur snapped.

"Ooh…testy…" Antonio murmured, standing from his chair and walking to stand slightly behind Francis. "What happened?"

In truth, Amelia didn't really know what to say anymore. Hearing the opening to that song had been too much for her poor sleep deprived brain to work through. It appeared to be more than Arthur was willing to contemplate as well. Well, at least she wasn't alone.

"Hmm…well, until you two work out—whatever it is that you need to work out," Antonio mused, tapping a finger to his chin and a smirk growing on his face. "Then I think you two ought to have to share the loveseat up front near the kitchenette." The Spaniard jabbed his thumb in the direction of the cozy little dining area that was located just behind the control room. "After all, it'll be a little weird to share a room in this state."

"Wait, what?!" Amelia squeaked.

Arthur scowled, turning from Antonio to Francis. "You can't be serious…"

Francis folded his arms and nodded, "Did you honestly think that you would be getting your own private rooms, chére? What would the press do if they thought that you two were not sharing a suite? We need to avoid suspicion at all costs." He guided the musicians to their designated seat.

"Lovers often share bedrooms, amigos," Antonio agreed with his French friend. "And not only bedrooms," he continued, "they also share a bed."

Amelia couldn't remember the last time she felt the blood drain from her face so quickly, her brain felt numb.

"There had better be two beds in that hotel room," Arthur growled. "Or, so help me, I will bind you both, throw you into the nearest harbor, and watch you sink to a watery grave." He took a menacing step toward Francis and Antonio. "Have I made myself clear?"

The Frenchman rolled his eyes. "Please, lapin, we are trying to create a buzz for the agency—not run a captive breeding program." Amelia felt as though her cheeks were on fire and hid her face in her hands. Why did Francis have to say such things?! "Besides," the American felt an arm snake around her waist, "I would never do that to my darling Amelia, isn't pretending to _like_ you torture enough?"

Arthur growled but took his seat. Well, this was going to be a fun flight across the country…

Mercifully, the captain soon asked that everyone be seated so that they could takeoff. Francis released Amelia with a wink and went to take his seat across from Madeline, who was already busy reading a book. Having little other choice, Amelia sat next to the Brit who was currently rummaging through his carry-on bag for something to occupy his time.

Following suit, Amelia pulled out her handheld gaming system. She selected one of her oldest games, one that she had completed at least seven times. It wouldn't take too much concentration to play, it was perfect. She just had to collect artifacts; bust some bad guys; and save the princess. Piece of cake.

The first few levels she could complete with her eyes closed, though they got progressively harder. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have had any problems taking down the empire but she found herself having trouble just keeping her eyes open after several hours on the flight.

"Amelia," the pop star started upon hearing her name, effectively killing her in-game avatar.

"Huh?" she asked, blinking her eyes and turning to the Brit beside her who had been gently tapping on the keys of his laptop for the past few hours.

Arthur looked away for a moment, as though contemplating what it was that he wanted to say before looking back up to the American. "Why don't we just pretend that we didn't hear…that song, today?"

The girl nodded vigorously, mostly in agreement but partially to try to stay awake. "I think that would be cool, dude." She stifled a yawn. "Hearing…that…made things really weird." It might be a good idea to talk about that song and their past at some point—but Amelia was also game to avoid that conversation for as long as possible—forever, if that was an option, though she highly doubted it.

Arthur sighed and smiled, "Brilliant."

Amelia returned his smile and then turned back to her handheld. It was currently asking if she wanted to continue. After a moment of thought, the girl decided that she was too tired to play anymore and shut the game off. The nightmare always drained her more than a simple sleepless night; she tried to suppress another yawn. Checking the time, there was only about two and a half more hours in flight. Maybe it would be okay for her to try to sleep the rest of the way.

Deciding that the idea was worth a shot, the pop star leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Falling asleep was easy, it took mere seconds; getting comfortable was what proved difficult. As they were seated on a loveseat, it did not recline as the other seats did, so keeping upright was a challenge. Every time that Amelia started to slip off to sleep, her head would roll to the side and jostle her awake. Finally, she tilted her collar in hopes of staying put. Sure, she would probably have a sore neck tomorrow, but at this point it was worth it to be able to sleep.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, Amelia could feel the vague sensation on a hand on her shoulder, gently tugging her toward one side. Too tired to investigate, she allowed the hand to guide her until she felt her head rest against something firm, a shoulder? The last thing she registered before falling completely asleep was the light scent of a familiar fragrance. Mmm…Arthur's cologne…

Then next thing Amelia knew, a soft voice was waking her from her sleep. "Wake up, Love, it's time to go."

Opening her eyes, Amelia begrudgingly stood and clumsily gathered her things before following Madeline from the aircraft and into the waiting limo. Luckily, as it was a private landing strip, there were no fans or paparazzi with flashing cameras waiting for them, it was dark and quiet. However, that was not the case at the hotel.

A few minutes later, as the limo pulled into the hotel's driveway drop-off, the car was bombarded by men and women with huge, flashing cameras as well and numerous civilians sporting band t-shirts and homemade signs. Though Amelia felt sure that the cameras could not photograph through the intensely shaded windows, she felt a flutter of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Their last run-in with the press had ended with a picture of Vanya posed to kiss her—not something she wanted to repeat.

"Well, this will be a warm reception…" Francis noted, checking his reflection in the window and running his fingers through his blond locks. The limo parked right in front of the brightly lit entrance and the driver opened the back-right passenger door. "Well, we mustn't keep our adoring fans waiting!"

Francis exited the limo first and extended a hand to Madeline before escorting her towards the entrance; Antonio followed next, met with the screams of adoring high school girls; and then it was Arthur and Amelia's turn.

"Come on," Arthur extended a hand to her, a wry smirk on his lips. "Let's get this over with…"

Amelia took his hand, butterflies dancing in her stomach as he laced his fingers through hers. Following the Brit out of the vehicle into the bright streetlights outside, Amelia almost had to shield her eyes from the immediate attack of the flashing lights of cameras shuttering open and shut. People were calling their names; teenagers were screaming in the crowd; some people even reached their hands towards the music artists as hotel security struggled to keep the crowd under control.

Waving with her free hand, Amelia smiled to the crowd that she could barely see through the camera flashes. Arthur's hand was still firmly wrapped around hers, urging her toward the entrance, though she could see a small smile on his lips as well. With one final wave to her fans, Amelia entered the hotel.

"Trés bien! I knew you could do it!" Before she could breathe, Amelia found that she and Arthur had both been pulled into a hug by the overly affectionate fashion designer. "That was fantastic!" He smiled, handing them two cards. "Here are the keys to your suite, Madeline is on the floor above you and Antonio and I are on the floor below." Seeing the incredulous looks on their faces, the blond continued, "We made last minute accommodations for you both and Madeline, and otherwise the hotel is entirely booked—we couldn't get rooms close together."

Amelia blinked; Maddie wasn't going to be right next door?! This was a disaster! What was she going to do if the nightmares returned? Turning, the American wanted to see what the Brit thought of these sleeping arrangements. She was mildly surprised to see a smug smirk on his face.

"I'm not on the same floor as you two?" He took the keys from Francis, "It's like a dream come true."

The Frenchman's lips turned down into a tired scowl. "I'll miss you too, mon coeur…"

Antonio chuckled, though it sounded slightly strained. "Why don't we all check into our rooms and then head down to the lounge for a while?"

Amelia nodded and gave thumbs up, "Sounds good." She turned to Arthur who merely rolled his eyes but didn't disagree.

Finding their room proved to be simple: take the elevator; third floor from the top; the master suite at the end of the hall. After Arthur unlocked the door, Amelia rushed past him, eager to explore the room.

"Oh wow!" she squealed, looking at the adorable little living area. The room expanded out from the door, and looked out to a fairly large balcony that loomed over the busy street and, she assumed the ocean. It was complete with an overstuffed sofa; large screen television; and dining nook that was located next to the kitchenette to the right of the suite.

"Come on, Arthur!" Amelia called, racing toward the door that she felt sure lead to the bedroom. She swung the door open and grinned. The bed was huge! Fluffy pillows covered the headboard and the duvet was a plush cream color. It looked so soft and heavenly that she wanted nothing more than to jump onto it, the only thing that stopped her was the angry hiss from behind her.

Turning, she saw Arthur standing directly behind her, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his mouth. "Damn it, Frog!"

Amelia wasn't sure why he was so angry...until she turned around once more.

One bed...there was one bed...

* * *

 **Hey there, everyone! A million apologies for the long wait and (apparent) hiatus. I could give you all of the boring details on why this chapter took so long, but I honestly doubt that you'd care. Let's just say it has to do with a new job; late nights; and an office ghost (who I affectionately call "Jack").**

 **As always, I'd like to extend a huge "Thank You" to everyone who has read, followed, and favorited this story, you are all wonderful and dearly appreciated!**

 **Goodness, a special "Thank You," to all of those who commented. Eternal Night Owl, Willow Breeze the first, Darkabyssoflove, WhiteXTrainer00, RowenaMatthewJones, you are all amazingly sweet and I feel badly for not being diligent enough to get this chapter out sooner (it's been over a month!) I don't think I've ever gotten do many reviews for one chapter—this made me very happy, Thank You!**

 **I tried to make this chapter especially long in an attempt to apologize for my extended absence (I don't know if anyone who reads this really cares, but on the off chance that someone does-this is for you!)**

 **As always, feel free to leave your thoughts in the reviews (I love them all) and feel free to contact me if you have any questions or are just bored and want to chat.**

 **Until Next Time!**

 **Published: 18/3/2017**

 **Word Count: 5,558**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

"You have to fix this, Frog," Arthur growled, walking shoulder to shoulder with the Frenchman through the hotel lobby.

Francis sighed tiredly, "As they said, Lapin, there are no other rooms available. You will just have to deal with sharing the bed with Amelia until we can figure something out tomorrow." From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the blond man turn and lean in close to him. "You know you want to…" He could feel warm breath tickling his ear.

Whirling around, Arthur tried to punch the sneaky Frenchman in the face, only to see him prance easily away from the balled fist. "Watch it, Frog, I'm still considering tossing you and that idiot Spaniard into the harbor," he hissed, ignoring the other hotel guests who were watching the scene with rapt attention. "Besides," he walked a bit faster to outpace the designer, "Madeline and Amelia can share the room, it wouldn't be proper for us to—"

"Non." Arthur felt a hand clutch his wrist tightly. He turned to meet solemn indigo eyes as the designer continued in a calm, low tone. "Lapin, celebrities have been brought down much too easily by making little mistakes like that one." He glanced around before continuing, "Should an employee see that you and Amelia are not sharing a room, all of our hard work will have been for nothing!" The Frenchman's eyes shifted around the hotel lobby, "One must never underestimate the power of an overly observant hotel maid."

Arthur wanted to slap the taller man, but something about his solemn manner made him uneasy. Instead, he settled for ripping his hand out of the other's clutches. "If I recall correctly, you were flirting with a handful of those very maids not ten minutes ago." He hissed, disdain dripping in his voice.

Francis shrugged and ran a hand through his locks, "That is what makes them so dangerous, they are beautiful and very good at sniffing out the truth."

"You act as though you're speaking from experience," Arthur muttered, walking toward the entrance to the hotel's bar. The only response he got from the fashion designer was a devious grin.

Arthur rolled his eyes and walked into the bar, "Now, where are they?" Looking around, Arthur immediately spotted Antonio, surrounded by six or seven women who were hanging on his every word. Ugh...why? Glancing to the bar, Arthur couldn't help the smirk that grew on his face as he spotted the twins.

Amelia and Madeline were sitting up at the bar having an intense conversation. No, conversation was not the right word; it looked like Madeline was simply lecturing her sister—likely about sneaking out of the house in the small hours of the morning. Amelia was slouched over the bar, only half-listening to the rant and blowing bubbles into, what Arthur could only guess was, cola.

Though...ignoring the childish behavior, the Brit had to admit that the pop star looked quite fetching with her legs tucked beneath the barstool; her elbow on the table, propping up her chin; while a slight pout rested on her face. No, stop that! Nothing that silly girl does should ever be considered attractive!

Walking past the Brit, Francis went to where the girls were sitting and leant against the bar. "So, how did it go?" Madeline asked with a smile, breaking off her lecture once she saw the two men.

"Unfortunately," Arthur answered, walking over to the group, "it looks like we're stuck with the one bedroom."

Amelia removed the straw from her mouth and shrugged. "No big, dude. That bed is huge, it'll be fine."

Francis placed his order with the bartender. "That's what I was telling him, Chére. But he is as stubborn as they come."

Arthur bristled, "That is not the point," he whispered furiously, "it isn't proper for us to—" He was cut off by the boisterous girl.

"Haha! Since when have I ever cared about being 'proper'?!" Amelia laughed before reaching her arms high above her head and arching her back.

Arthur shook his head, "Keep your voice down, Amelia!" The girl just smirked at him as she stretched; leaning back further and revealing a small area of pale, smooth skin and the sharp line of her hipbone.

Looking for a moment, Arthur turned away, cheeks hot. Freely exposing such intimate skin was something Amelia did without so much as a thought to decorum. Not that he could really talk; it had taken him a few moments to look away. Glancing anywhere but toward the pop star, the Brit noticed that while he knew better than to stare, there were a few bar patrons who did not. Watching their eyes go over the girl next to him, it really was irksome.

"I think I'm gonna go back to room." Amelia announced, yawning widely.

"Me too," her twin agreed. "Goodnight."

"Shall we escort you to your rooms, ma petite?" Francis asked.

"Nah, it's cool dude. This place is crawling with security, we'll be fine!" Amelia smiled widely and waved, completely unaware that even now she was being watched by some, presumably intoxicated, bar patrons. Bloody hell…

"Okay, sweet dreams girls," the designer waved, starting to cross the room toward his Spanish friend, who had now doubled the number of adoring women swarming around him.

"Wait, I'll walk you both to the rooms," the rock star called, shooting a dirty look to the Frenchman, how could he be so careless? In response, Francis looked at Arthur and gave him a suggestive wink in return. Damn him.

"Wouldn't you rather have a drink, Artie?" Amelia asked, laughing as the three of them walked toward the elevators.

"It's Arthur," the Englishman huffed, crossing his arms, "and anyway, who on earth would be stupid enough to choose to be in the company of those two buffoons?"

Madeline giggled lightly as she stepped into the elevator. "I dunno, there seemed to be a lot of willing participants…"

"You're on the floor above us, right Madeline?" Arthur asked quickly, ignoring the Canadians correct observation as he punched in the numbers on the elevator panel. The violet-eyed twin nodded.

It was a quick trip upstairs. Once there, Arthur insisted on checking to make sure that the girl's room was empty and that some fan hadn't somehow snuck in without the girl's knowledge. One could never be too careful. Although the hotel had hired extra security just for their visit, it was obvious that they were not like the guards that the Beilschmidts trained back in the New York headquarters.

Once he was satisfied that the girl's room held no intruder, Arthur went to let the Canadian know it was safe to enter. "If you need anything, my dear, don't hesitate to call." He couldn't help feeling protective of Amelia's sister, after all she was his Little Sister too, the one that hadn't left.

"Thank you, Arthur." Madeline walked to the room but turned to look at them from the threshold. "You both have a good night too!" She looked at Amelia and smirked. "But, not too good of a night!"

Ah yes, Arthur had almost forgotten that Francis had been Madeline's Big Brother as well…

Amelia blushed deeply, taking a step forward to shove her sister and send her flying, backwards into her room. "Goodnight! Love you, too!" The American practically screeched, slamming the door shut.

They could hear the sound of light laughter from the other side of the door as they stood there, unsure what to do.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Erm...well, I suppose we ought to get going." _To our room,_ he thought to himself. Yes, their room, the room they were to share for a long weekend. The room that only had one bed... No, no, he'd sleep on the couch before he would let that happen! After all she was his Little—wait...no she wasn't… So, why—"

"Hey, Arthur, do you have a key?" Amelia's voice shook the rock star from his thoughts. They were already back at their room?!

"Y-yes," he murmured, reaching into his pocket and slipping the card into the American's waiting hand.

"Thanks!" She flashed him a smile that made chills run down his spine before bursting through the door. "Do you mind if I hit the shower first?" She was already walking through the living room toward the bedroom.

"No, no, go right ahead," Arthur waved her off. He noticed his guitar case resting against the arm of the sofa. "I was just going to practice some chords."

She shot him a thumbs up. "Sweet!"

As he watched her stroll into the bedroom, Arthur walked over to the black, leather guitar case and began to unlatch the hooks. Playing had always helped to clear his thoughts before, it should help again. But why did he feel as though he were forgetting something?

Shit! He hadn't checked the rooms. Abandoning the guitar, Arthur raced to the bedroom.

Forcefully thrusting the door open, he didn't bother to knock which earned a jump from the pop star. "Dude! There's a thing called knocking!" Thankfully, she was still fully clothed.

"My apologies," Arthur muttered, quickly opening and inspecting the closets and then moving on to check under the bed. Everything was good so far, next to check the restroom. No one was behind the door, under the sink, or hidden in the shower, he had worried for nothing.

Amelia watched him, an amused smirk on her lips. "Is there a reason that you're so…" she motioned her index finger in a circular motion next to her temple.

He frowned. "I am not crazy. For your information, once a crazed fangirl snuck into our hotel room and hid under Alistair's bed. He didn't know she was there until he went to shower and found her rummaging through his suitcase." He shuttered at the memory. If the girl had been violent it could have ended very differently.

"So...what happened?" The yank asked, eyes as round as saucers.

Arthur shrugged, "It's Alastair; he simply escorted the girl out and had security bar her from the premises." In all honesty, if it had happened to any of the other brothers, Arthur doubted if the event would have been handled in such a calm manner.

The pop star smiled. "Aw, you were worried about me!" She clasped her hands to her cheeks and fluttered her eyelashes at the Brit.

Arthur hid his face in the palm of his hand. Honestly! "Just go take a shower…" he muttered, walking past the giggling girl and feeling a bit sheepish over his somewhat extreme reaction.

Once he left the room, the Englishman pulled his guitar out of its case. A six string with the pattern of the Union Jack on its body: a bit stereotypical, but he loved it.

Strumming away, he began to practice different chords. The rock stars hands were well practiced and just floated over the neck of the instrument without much conscious effort from the Brit. It was relaxing and time began to slip by quickly. Soon, notes formed chords and then chords became choruses, before Arthur knew what he was doing he was humming along to whole songs. And he wasn't the only one; he slowly realized that another voice had joined in sometime in the last song.

Putting the guitar down, Arthur turned toward the bedroom and came upon a curious sight. "What the bloody hell is that?" He smirked. There stood Amelia, hair damp and skin dewy from the shower, standing in the doorway. Normal for the most part, except that she was dressed in (what could only be described as) a brown, adult sized onesie.

The American tossed her head, "I don't know what you're laughing about, sir!" She grinned. " _This_ ," she modeled the onesie, "is my sexiest lingerie." It was then that Arthur saw that the outfit was complete with a hoodie that sported, what looked like, bear ears.

"So...you're a bear?" He asked, fighting the urge to laugh.

"Yup!" The pop star nodded, hands on her hips. "Maddie has a pair just like this one too, except hers are white. Like a polar bear!"

"Charming." Arthur managed to choke out.

Amelia smiled and walked over to the sofa, "So…I'm going to bed. You coming?" She leaned over the back of the couch and stared at him expectantly.

Arthur felt his cheek immediately heat up. "Actually, I think I'm going to sleep out here on the sofa tonight."

"Dude, the bed is huge, it won't be weird." Amelia said tiredly, Arthur could swear that he heard her eyes roll with the statement. When he didn't respond, Amelia groaned. "I swear, I'll sleep out in the couch too, if you try to sleep on this hard thing."

"Why the devil would you do that?" Arthur asked.

"Because I'm not letting you sleep out on the couch when there is a massive bed in there," she motioned toward the bedroom, "we can even put the body pillow down the middle of the bed to make sure we stay on our own sides."

Why was she so stubborn? "Fine!" Arthur relented. "If we put the pillows down the length of the mattress, I suppose it will be alright." As long as Amelia went to bed before him, who was going to make him stay in the bedroom?

"Cool," the girl nodded, she picked up the guitar carrier. "I'll just take Elizabeth's case with me." The rock star narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled sweetly. "I know that you wouldn't be able to sleep without putting your precious guitar away 'properly.'"

Blinking, Arthur's annoyance faded away quickly. "I'm surprised you remember her name," he murmured, looking at the instrument in his hands.

"'Course I do, dude!" The American winked as she walked to the bedroom, black guitar case in tow. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," Arthur answered back. She was...something else…

Taking the guitar back in his hands, the rock star continued to play his scales and chords. However, this time he did so without much enjoyment. He was very aware that he was getting much, much too close to the annoying American. If he wasn't careful, this stupid charade would end painfully. He wouldn't let her back in, just to watch her leave again, he couldn't.

He played for another hour, hoping that by that time, the American would be fast asleep. She had been correct, he would not allow his instrument to stand alone over night; she needed to be in the protective case. However, if Amelia were asleep, how would she enforce her threat to make him stay in the bedroom? He just had to wait long enough to ensure the energetic girl was asleep and after not sleeping well the night before, he shouldn't have to wait too long.

* * *

Opening the door gingerly, Arthur listened to the room. Amelia appeared to be fast asleep on the far end of the bed.

Tiptoeing across the room, the rock star watched the sleeping girl warily as he located the guitar case and carefully put Elizabeth away. Amelia was quiet, it was eerie seeing her so quiet and still.

Walking a bit closer, Arthur saw that her hair had dried a bit more, making it look soft and slightly frizzy. Huh…she was rather…cute while asleep. The rock star gave himself a mental shake. None of that, Arthur. None of that. Now, to sneak out…

Slightly more assured that he would not wake the girl, the Brit walked to the door, taking care to tread lightly over the soft carpet. Almost out. As he reached the door, he heard sheet shifting in the bed.

"Uh uh, Artie! You aren't sleeping on the couch!"

Turning, Arthur saw that Amelia had sat straight up in bed and was now glaring directly at him.

"Sorry, Love. Did I wake you?" He asked, mentally kicking himself for being so careless.

"No, I was only pretending to be asleep," Amelia stated, yawning directly after. "I thought you might try to be sneaky." She took her pillow in her arms, "If you insist on sleeping on the couch, I'll sleep in the chair."

"You feigned being asleep?!" The Brit felt his eye twitch. "Regardless, I am not allowing you to sleep in a chair when you have a perfectly good bed right here!" Arthur crossed his arms firmly.

"And I'm not letting you sleep on the couch when there is plenty of room for both of us right here!" She slammed a hand down on the mattress. "I've seen _Titanic_." She copied his gesture and crossed her arms in a display of stubbornness.

"Your comparison is flawed. My life doesn't depend on my sleeping in a bed." Arthur shook his head. "And in any case, a gentleman doesn't allow a lady to sleep in strange places."

"Then, you're going to be right here," Amelia patted the space on the other side of the body pillow that was currently dividing the enormous bed into two sections.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Fine, just…let me go turn out the living room light." Amelia did not answer but, instead, stared at him expectantly. Apparently, she was not going to sleep until he returned. Bleeding wonderful…

After making sure the door was bolted and turning out the lights, Arthur returned to the bedroom and quickly slipped into the loo to change into some night clothes; a simple night shirt and trousers. Then, after brushing his teeth, he turned out the light and slid under the cool covers of the downy bed and tried to relax.

Getting comfortable was near impossible, although the mattress as soft he wanted to flip around and shift about. It was nothing new; he often could not sleep. Why would this be any different? He prepared himself to toss and turn through another restless night.

However, as soon as he realized that Amelia's breath had evened out and that she actually, truly was asleep, Arthur stayed frozen in his position: on his right side, facing the doorway. He didn't want to be a restless bedmate and wake the sleeping girl. Insomnia was an old friend of his; another long night would not hurt him.

Soon, he began listening to the ticking of the clock and the soft breaths made by the American. Perhaps if he listened to the resulting symphony, sleep would find him. Taking a deep breath, Arthur tried to prepare his body for rest.

There were a few noises that took a few moments for him to locate: the hum of the air conditioner kicking on; the noise of someone stomping past the hotel room; the whir of a helicopter in the distance. However, the sound of Amelia's steady breathing was the most lulling it made him feel…less lonely. Eyelids getting heavy and heart rate slowing, the Brit could feel his body acclimating to the sleep that he sought.

CRASH!

Arthur started out of his daze, half annoyed that he had been pulled from sleep's clutches, half concerned over the origin of the crash and the sound of something shattering. Forcing himself to be still, Arthur glanced around in the darkness, his eyes adjusted to the gloom and on the lookout for any sign of movement. All of the sounds continued as usual: the whir of the air conditioning unit; the ticking clock; the occasional passerby outside the hotel door. All seemed normal except now his heart was hammering in the expectation of some new sound: intruding footsteps in the living room; a stranger's breathing; the creak of a door. But all was quiet.

Reaching toward the bedside table, Arthur found the lamp switch and turned the light on. Blinking in the sudden light, the rock star pushed himself up and looked around the room, sure that he would find someone but seeing no one. What the hell? The sound definitely came from this room…

He noticed that the lamp on the opposite side of the room was gone. His body, bristling, Arthur moved slightly to the side to get a better look, readying himself for whatever may happen.

Blinking, Arthur tried to make sense of what he saw. The lamp had been toppled over, likely breaking the glass, but as for what had toppled it… There was the body pillow, laying atop the wreckage. What in the world..?

Moving to sit up, Arthur felt a warm body press against his and two small hands clutch the fabric of his shirt. "Amelia?" He asked, startled and turning slightly to try to see what was going on.

Yes, Amelia had pressed herself to the rock star's back; held his shirt; and nuzzled her face into the space between his shoulder blades. In fact, he could feel the small, soft puffs of breath against his back.

Arthur bit his tongue to keep from laughing and collapsed back down onto the bed. The Yankee must have flung the body pillow away in her sleep, causing the crash (she was amazingly strong), and snuggled up next to the Englishman once the barrier had been removed. Slowly, his muscles released the tension that had collected.

"Amelia?" Arthur called, trying to turn his head to regard the girl. There was only a small sigh for an answer. He chuckled to himself and sighed. "Amelia," he tried again, "you need to wake up."

"No…" came the soft, breathy answer, "'m hibernat'in…" The answer was mumbled and made Arthur wonder whether or not the girl was even really awake. Well, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

Reaching over and detangling her hands from his bed clothes, Arthur smiled and sighed. "I think not, my dear. In this relationship, you cannot be the big spoon." Once her hands had been detached, the Brit sat up and examined the sleeping girl.

A slow pout was growing on her face as she once again reached out for his shirt. Arthur took her searching hands and pressed them down onto the bed. "Aren't you a troublesome little thing?" he asked aloud, moving to stroke some hair out of her sleeping face. She hummed contently and murmured something that the Brit could not make out.

She really was cute…

Arthur slapped his forehead, what the hell?! What the bleeding hell?! He needed to keep his distance from this girl, why was that so difficult?! He wanted to pick a fight with her, to hate her, anything to make keeping her at arm's length easier. But…the truth was…no matter what she did; he could never bring himself to hate her. Not when she roped him into this stupid scheme; not when she teamed up with that imbecile Frog to insult him; not even when she left the Band all those years before; he could never hate her. Never.

And that was the problem wasn't it? Where did that leave him? Arthur glanced at the sleeping American's face, so peaceful… he sighed. Screwed, that left him completely screwed.

Ah well… Perhaps the pain at the end of this little journey was inevitable, but that didn't mean that he had to be miserable the whole time. Settling back down into bed, Arthur decided to leave the questions for another day. For now, he would enjoy the right of the night and leave future heartache for tomorrow.

Rolling over, he faced the girl. "Alright, I'm not going to fight you anymore," he murmured, more for himself than for his sleeping bedmate.

As though in response to the Brit's soft words, Amelia turned and snuggled close to the rock star, tucking her head under his chin and pressing her body close to his. She was so close, for a moment Arthur could swear that he could feel her heart beat.

"A-are you awake?!" he stammered, a bit embarrassed to have been caught saying such tender things. But the girl didn't respond but continued to breathe softly against his skin. Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur pulled the covers over the sleeping girl. It would be fine, he would be up before she awoke.

Turning out th light, Arthur was surprised when the American pressed closer to him with a small whimper.

Blinking, Arthur came to a realization. "You don't like the dark, huh?" he asked the sleeping girl as he lightly rested an arm over the girl. It was cute. "Alright, how about I sing until I fall asleep?"

It was ridiculous, his punk rock songs were not the kind that anyone would listen to when trying to soothe someone to sleep—or in his case, keep someone asleep. Instead, he began to sing a song that his mum would sing to him as a lullaby when he was a lad:

"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,

Long, long ago, long, long ago,

Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,

Long, long ago, long ago,

Now you are come all my grief is removed,

Let me forget that so long you have roved.

Let me believe that you love as you loved,

Long, long ago, long ago."

He smiled sadly and continued to sing softly. Perhaps…just perhaps, letting her near wasn't the worst thing he could do. Her sleeping form was pleasantly warm and he liked the touch of her skin to his.

"Do you remember the paths where we met?

Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Ah, yes, you told me you'd never forget,

Long, long ago, long ago.

Then to all others, my smile you preferred,

Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.

Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,

Long, long ago, long ago…"

Before he could finish the final verse and chorus, Arthur too fell into a deep, easy sleep for the first time in a long time.

* * *

 **Long, Long Ago (1833) By: Thomas Haynes Bayly is in the public domain.**

 **Hi everyone, Happy Easter! (Yes, where I live it is still Easter—if just barely…)**

 **As always, I would like to thank everyone who had read, followed, and favorite—you are all the reason that I continue to write and post and are very much appreciated!**

 **As for Guest, HexingHaley, and Darkabyssoflove, Thank you, thank you! Your comments are always welcomed and cherished! I love hearing your thoughts and reactions, so thank you! You guys rock!**

 **So this chapter has had a rough time. It has been deleted 3 times and lost once (yes, I wanted to cry). Then I realized…this is the 13** **th** **chapter! I'm not usually a superstitious person but…all of the unfortunate events that kept this chapter from being written have made me wonder…**

 **Anyways, I'd love to hear from you lovely people, otherwise, please enjoy!**

' **Till Next Time!**

 **Published: 16/4/2017**

 **Word Count: 4,310**

 **P.S. HexingHaley, thank you for your comment! Though, I am a bit embarrassed to admit that the story may seem "realistic" at some points because some of the smaller events are inspired from my real life. Thus, why I am glad that none of my irl friends read this kind of thing...They would kill me if they knew! Haha! Anyways, until next time!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

Amelia woke slowly, keeping her eyes tightly shut as her consciousness returned. The bed was soft and pleasantly warm. She was aware of the vague feeling that she had been dreaming of something sweet. Though she could not remember what the dream was about, the light tingling of her body suggested that it had been something wonderful.

In the background, she became aware of the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. That's right, Arthur must be up and getting ready...she should get ready too, but...she was so cozy. Amelia listened to the patter of the shower, dozing off once more.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open stirred the American next; then she heard a voice calling her name. "Amelia, are you up?"

Sighing, the pop star slowly sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned lightly. "I'm awake," she mumbled, running a hand through her tangled hair.

"Good," Arthur called, "I just received a text from Madeline saying that the two idiots want to have breakfast with everyone before they leave on their errand." Amelia could hear him moving some things around in the closet.

"Okay," the American yawned again. "That sounds good, I—" Arthur walked into the bedroom and Amelia choked as her heart jumped up into her throat. Oh god, oh god, Artie's bare chest… black boots; fitted, black jeans...why the hell wasn't he wearing a shirt?! Wait! Was that a tattoo?! Up on the left side of his chest? What was it?!

The Brit regarded the pop star, still tousling his hair dry with one hand. "Are you alright?" Oh god, did he really not know? Seriously?!

Well...it wasn't like he needed a shirt, the pop star thought as she stared at the Englishman's exposed skin. His body was slender while his muscles looked firm and lean. Amelia shook her head. It just wasn't fair; he shouldn't be able to do things like that! And, seriously, what was that tattoo?!

"Yeah...I'm fine…" Amelia watched Arthur find what he was looking for: a black tee shirt that he had, apparently, left on the bed. "I'm...gonna get ready…" quickly, she slipped from the bed and dashed to the bathroom, eager to put a door between her and the Brit.

Splashing some cold water on her face and giving her cheeks a few good slaps, Amelia looked at herself in the mirror. What the hell was that?! Her heart was still pounding.

Cut that crap out, heart! It was Arthur. ARTHUR. The very same Arthur that she'd known for years. The same Arthur she'd had to leave—who she hadn't spoken to of four years. The person she'd loved—as a brother of course! Jeez!

Glancing around, the pop star realized that she had neglected to grab any clothes. Well, shit.

Opening the door to the bathroom, Amelia glanced around. Arthur was not in sight. Making a mad dash to the closet, she saw the Brit coming back in from the living room and giving her a curious glance. "Don't look!" She yelled, sliding into the walking closet and slamming the door shut. She cringed. Well, that was graceful. Hurriedly glancing around, Amelia saw her suitcase right where she'd left it, shoved into the back corner of the closet.

Striding over to the bag and throwing it open, Amelia chose a top and tried to shake the wrinkles from the fabric. On one side of the closet, a variety of black tees and skinny jeans were neatly organized on hangers. Huh, looked like Arthur had hung his clothes up, when had he had time to do that? It was kinda cute... NO. No, it was NOT. The American shook her head and picked up a tank top and a pair of shorts.

Dressing, Amelia briefly wondered if she ought to hang her clothes, before quickly dismissing the idea. That was way too much effort for a four day stay, she'd lived out of a suitcase her whole world tour—her clothes would be fine for a long weekend.

"Okay, I'm ready!" The pop star called, sliding the teddy bear ring onto her finger and walking out of the closet into the living room.

"Good." Came the curt answer. Amelia saw Arthur perched on the couch reading over the news paper. He finished reading whatever he was looking at before standing and extending his hand to her. "Let's go."

Amelia looked down at his hand, then back at his face. Was he..? Slowly, she moved her hand and placed it in his. When his hand closed around hers she nearly flinched in surprise. "Uh….For the paparazzi...right?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she allowed him to lead her out of their suite. The only response she got was a careless shrug from the Englishman.

Just like that, her heart was hammering again. It was worse than when she hit the gym really hard, at least then she knew why she felt hot and out of breath.

"I believe that after breakfast we're scheduled to have Madeline teach us the musical routine for the concert since Antonio will be busy," Arthur mused aloud.

Amelia smirked. "Sweet! Then we'll probably have time to go to the beach afterward!" With any luck she'd be able to figure out what the tattoo on his chest was.

Arthur made a face as he pressed the button for the elevator. "The beach?"

"Yeah!" Amelia nodded. "We're in California, we've got to visit the beaches around here!" The Brit didn't look convinced. The American folded her arms, "I'm right, and you—"

"Big Brother, Arthur!" A voice called out, cutting the girl off.

Whirling around, the musicians were met with two familiar faces walking down the hall towards them.

"Aye!" The taller of the two yelled, waving an arm. He had dark hair, wild eyes, and a bandage strapped across the bridge of his nose. "Whatcha two doing here?" He grinned from ear to ear.

Behind him was a smaller boy with light, hornlike curls on either side of his head and a mischievous smirk on his face. "We thought you were staying in New York. We would've planned something if we knew you'd be in town." His hair and smile made him look like a little ram.

The taller one was Kyle, the popular TV personality from "the land down under," and the shorter was his…brother..? Cousin..? Amelia couldn't remember, but she believed sheep-boy's name was Chris and that he was an up-and-coming actor with the agency. They had both been under Arthur's instruction when they were younger—Hell, even now they called him "Big Brother."

Turning, an immediate smile crept onto the rock star's face. "Hello, boys." The elevator, largely forgotten, arrived and opened behind the singers.

Kyle carelessly slung an arm around Arthur's shoulder and squeezed him close. "How've ya been, Artie?! We've missed ya!"

"S'up guys!" Amelia called, before realizing that neither Kyle nor Chris seemed to even realize she was there.

"Don't hurt him, Kyle!" Sheep-boy exclaimed, wrapping his hands around the Aussie's arm and attempting to pry it from around the Brit's neck. "Come on, let go!"

"Not to worry, Christian, I'm fine," Arthur assured as he pulled away from the taller man's grasp. "How long has it been? You've both gotten taller since the last time I saw you."

Chris put a finger to his chin in contemplation. "Hmm...It's been at least since Madeline left your band… I think the last time we all were together was when you all had a farewell party for her. So...about two years ago..?" The curly haired boy nodded. "Yes, I believe that's it, right Kyle?"

"Right," the Australian nodded, two cowlicks bobbing from his fringe. He turned his head slightly and caught the American's eyes and jumped slightly. "Aye! How long have you been there?!"

Is this what Maddie had to go through all the time? Ugh...how did she put up with it?! "Long enough." Amelia said dryly, just before Kyle pulled her into a bear hug of her own.

"C'mere, Sis!" The hug was uncomfortably tight.

"I'm not your sis, I'm not Maddie!" How dare he?! She was not her sister!

"'Course you're not Maddie. But you're dating Arthur," he smirked, "that makes you like...our Big Sister…"

Amelia felt her face go hot. She glanced at Arthur, just in time to see him shrug. Pushing away from Kyle the pop star shook her head. "No, no-no...it isn't like that…" she waved her hands in front of her body, surely Arthur would hop in at any second to set them straight.

He didn't.

"Oh, we should all get together, just like the old days!" Chris clapped, smiling. "We can all hang out! Us, Madeline, your brothers of course, and your other 'Little Siblings.'"

"Other siblings?!" Amelia snapped to look at the younger boy and then to Arthur. "You had more 'siblings' from the agency?!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her before Kyle butted in. "Let's see, there is Michelle, the little model from Seychelles; oh, and Leon, Wang's younger brother who is also a model; and...Oh! There's also that Bollywood dancer/actor from India...what was that gent's name..?" The brunet scratched his cheek thoughtfully, "There are others too, I just can't remember their names at the moment…"

Amelia gritted her teeth and looked away. "Oh." There was a knot in the pit of her stomach. Who would've guessed that Arthur had had so many "siblings"? Why was that such a crushing thought?

Who cared? The whole freaking world could've been his "younger siblings," for all it mattered. Why did hearing it make it so painful?

Sighing, Amelia turned back to the three men. They had already moved onto a different topic of conversation.

"I am so proud of you both, you're doing extremely well for yourselves," Christian and Kyle grinned at the praise from their senior. "Tell me, what are you both up to these days?"

"Well, I've been coming up with a screenplay that I want Beautiful World to produce…" Christian began, but Amelia stopped listening. What would it be like? To have Arthur say that he was proud of her, his protégé? What a strange thought. Apparently, not all of his former siblings were despised as much as she had been—and perhaps still was.

Walking over to the elevator, Amelia stepped into the small compartment and pressed the button for the ground floor.

* * *

"Dios mio, what is with the face, conejita?" Antonio asked, taking a sip of his coffee and giving the blonde a curious glance.

"Yes, and where is Arthur?" Francis added, looking past the girl as though hoping to catch sight of the Englishman trailing shortly behind. When he saw no such sight, he raised an eyebrow to the teen.

"He ran into some of his 'Little Brothers' in the hall," Amelia mumbled, sitting at the table that the two men occupied and reaching out to grab an apple from a bowl in the center. "It could be a while." She bit into the fruit viciously, only somewhat aware of the glances exchanged by the Frenchman and the Spaniard. "Where's Maddie?" She asked, noticing her twin's absence.

"She went to fetch you," Francis answered, frowning slightly.

"Oh, then she probably joined their little reunion upstairs." The American growled, taking another aggressive bite of the apple.

After a moment of blank stares, Antonio broke the silence. "Reunion?"

Amelia nodded, "We ran into some of Arthur's 'Siblings' on the way down—Kyle and Christian. It was like they were his actual brothers or children." It was impossible to suppress the eye roll.

"I thought you were friends with them, chère."

Shrugging, the girl nodded politely as a server offered her a cup of coffee. "I guess they're cool." She muttered between clenched teeth. "Just really annoying." Amelia glanced to Antonio then to Francis. "Did you know that Arthur had had a lot of 'Siblings' throughout the agency? Like, a lot, a lot. . ?"

"Well, I know of five that I can count off the top of my head," the Spaniard mused, silently counting on his fingertips. "But I know that there are more."

Amelia scoffed, "Yeah, whatever." She took a gulp of piping hot coffee, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as the bitter liquid burnt her mouth and throat. It didn't even taste good.

Who cared if Arthur had a whole bunch of students? Like it even mattered.

But still, every time that he'd left her and Maddie to do a show elsewhere, had he gone to see them? The _other_ siblings? The thought annoyed her.

Slouching down into her seat and crossing her arms, Amelia looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring at her. "What?"

Francis frowned deeper. "To start, you're even starting to sound like Arthur. . ."

"And-" Antonio interjected, seeing the girl's hands slam onto the table, preparing her to stand from the table and punch the blond male in the face. "You sound a little jealous, Amelia."

"Ha!" Amelia rolled her eyes. "Me? Jealous?! Of what?"

Silence fell as neither the Spaniard nor the Frenchman made an attempt to answer her question. Instead, both men kept staring at the pop star, Francis with a raised brow and Antonio with a small smirk.

The American sighed. "Look, it was just really irritating to watch them fawning over each other."

"Because he doesn't act that way toward you?" Francis suggested lightly.

Well. . .maybe. . .but there was no way in Hell that Francey-Pants needed to know that. So, Amelia blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Because it makes me wonder if I was just another one of his lackeys…another drop in the bucket. . ." It was painful, almost too much to consider. "What was I to him?"

Neither Francis nor Antonio seemed to know what to say to the girl for a moment. The server came to ask if they were still waiting for the rest of their party. To which Antonio affirmed and thanked the teen for his patience, assuring him that their friends would be there shortly.

Once the server left, Amelia turned away from her friends. Highly aware of the heat pooling in her cheeks, the girl also knew that she wanted to know. What had she been to the Englishman? But, at the same time, she didn't know if she could bear the answer.

The American felt a hand rest softly on her head and looked up to see Francis looking down at her tenderly. "Chère, you know we cannot answer that question for him, oui?" Amelia nodded slowly in response, releasing a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding and relaxed her shoulders.

"But," the designer continued, earning a wide eyed look from the pop star, "I think you're missing a very important question." He sat down in the chair next to hers and looked her in the eye. "Chère, what is Arthur to you?"

Amelia blinked a few times. What did Arthur mean to her..?

"Well…" she mused, "He taught me a lot and he still tries to keep me out of trouble." Like all those times he tried to teach her how to play the guitar when she was angry with her agent. Not that she'd ever learned how to play anything very well. She thought harder. "He can be a grump, can be spiteful, and always tries to act aloof, but…" she smiled, "but he can be really sweet." She sighed, "I love him. . .he's my Big Brother after-"

"Nuh-uh, Little One," Antonio shook his head slowly and crossed his arms. "He isn't your 'Big Brother,' you lost the right to call him that four years ago when you wanted to prove your 'independence'." The dancer smiled, "You told him yourself that he wasn't your brother anymore."

There was a sinking feeling in Amelia's stomach. That couldn't be right! Sure, she'd told Arthur that she wasn't his 'Little Sister' anymore, but that couldn't mean—

"I have to agree with Antonio, Ma Petite." The Frenchman was looking away from his companions, staring across the room. "It leaves you with an interesting choice," he shifted his eyes to meet the American's. "You're definitely more than 'friends' with our little Lapin , but you're _obviously_ not lovers…yet." Amelia felt her face go red as her mouth fell open, trying to say something but unable to find words. That was bold—even for Francis. "You have to decide what you want to do," he smirked, as he once again glanced away from the pop star, "and do it quickly because here he comes!"

"What?!" Amelia jumped out of her seat and spun around. Yup, there was Artie, making his way through the dining hall with his cell phone pressed to his ear and a scowl on his face. Oh God! No! No, no, no, no, NO. She wasn't ready, she wasn't ready..! More than friends...not...lovers..? Ugh! Damn that French designer! He was getting too close, too close!

Heart hammering painfully against her ribs, the girl's mouth went dry and she was still unable to utter a sound. Oddly enough, she also seemed to be frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch the Brit advance upon the table. No, wait, stop, go back! I'm not ready, I'm not ready!

"...Right...right…" the Englishman was very agreeable with whoever was on the other line, nodding his head with apparent agitation. "But I-" he cut off abruptly, slowly beginning to nod. "Fine! I'll leave immediately!" He ended the call quickly before glancing around the table. "My apologies, it apppears that my family needs me, I have to leave." He glanced around, it seemed like his eyes lingered on a certain American longer than the other two. Then he nodded, turned sharply, and walked away.

Déjà vu. No matter how many times Amelia could remember watching the Brit walk away from her, or how long it had been, she couldn't suppress the tremor of anxiety and dread that moved through her body.

"Yo!" She yelled, finally finding her voice and nearly kicking her chair out of her way. She almost collided with her sister, whom seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Sorry, Maddie!" Amelia called over her shoulder, doing her best to catch up to the rock star as she continued to follow him. "Arthur!" She reached him just as he was stepping into the elevator.

"Amelia?" He asked, eyes wide with surprise.

She stumbled into the elevator just before the doors closed. "So…" she smirked, heart racing and not entirely sure what to say. "Why're ya go'in home?"

The blond man flinched but refrained from correcting the American's grammar. "I just received a call from my mother's assistant. She wouldn't give me any details, but apparently something happened regarding my younger brother." The elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

"Wait," Amelia asked, following Arthur into the hallway, "you have a younger brother? Like, your actual younger brother?"

Arthur frowned, "Unfortunately," he muttered, opening the hotel room door. "He can be quite the pain in the arse." The rock star let himself into the suite and went to quickly pack his belongings that had been so neatly hung up in the closet, throwing them carelessly into the bag.

"Aw, I'm sure he isn't that bad." Amelia smiled, twirling her ring anxiously. "So...what if I came along to help with your lil' bro?" Arthur stopped packing.

"Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be back sooner than you think. No need to waste your time coming to England with me." He zipped the suitcase quickly and stood.

He sure didn't seem to want her to come with him, Amelia felt another blaring sense of déjà vu. "Are you sure? Because we still need to practice that dance routine together…" she pressed.

"Yes, it's fine, I should return before long."

Lip trembling, Amelia took a breath. It really was just like old times, only now there was no one to force her to stay behind—now he seemed not to want her to go. "Arthur..?" She asked.

He turned to regard her. "Yes?"

Her cheeks felt hot and she looked away. She took a breath, she had to know. "Why don't you want me to come with you?"

The Brit sighed, "Amelia…" he reached out to touch her hair, but stopped as the American caught his hand.

"What was I to you?" Her voice was deathly still. She couldn't look him in the eyes, instead she looked down.

"What..?" He sounded taken aback as he pulled his hand from the girl's grasp.

Amelia raised her head, scowling felt so foreign on her face. "What am I to you? Am I just…" She stopped, not knowing how to end the question without screaming at the man. Instead, she just looked away once more, not wanting to look him in the eyes. "Just another hopeful starlet? Another star for your collection?" She asked quietly. It was odd. She had expected violent anger or gut wrenching sadness as she asked that question. All she felt was complete, cold emptiness that sunk deep into her bones.

She felt arms wrap around her waist and torso and hold her tight. Enveloped in the Brit's light cologne, Amelia was torn between wanting to be held tighter, to return his embrace, and hating herself for liking it—she wanted to stay angry at the rock star.

"No, no, it was never that…" Arthur confirmed, stroking the girl's hair.

"Then what?" She asked, pushing out of his arms. She glared at him defiantly, "If not one of your collection, then what?"

He stared at her for a moment, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I—" he started, a knock on the door interrupting him.

"Mr. Kirkland, your car is waiting for you outside of the lobby," a cheerful voice called.

He looked to the door, "Yes, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." They both listened to the sound of footsteps walking away from the door before Arthur sighed and turned back to Amelia. "I have to go."

Amelia turned to walk away. Of course, she'd never know the answer, it had been foolish to expect one . Then again, maybe it had been foolish to believe that anything between them could ever change. He'd always be the rock star and she'd always be the girl that he couldn't forgive.

Then, he grabbed her hand, "Amelia!" She turned back to him, unamused. The Brit frowned, "Amelia, please don't pout." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I-I don't know how to answer that question." Of course he didn't... He squeezed her hand tighter, "But, I do care about you." Cupping her chin, he guided her face to meet his. "I promise, we can talk more when I return."

All the girl could do was nod lamely. Maybe it was better that way. She had a few things to think about—damn Francis for calling her motives into question! All Arthur was doing was holding her hand—not even romantically—and her face felt hot.

He smiled slightly, "Thank you."

She couldn't stop watching his lips as he spoke—seriously, stop staring! He might see. Crap. He did see… Amelia watched as the rock star smirked and leaned in closer. He was so close—too close, too close! Was he going to..? Shutting her eyes, she waited. Her heart took off, pounding a million beats a second, making her whole body tremble as she waited for his lips to touch hers.

After a few seconds there was still nothing, she opened her eyes slightly and took a peek at him. He was just staring at her with those overly green eyes, cocky smirk still on his face. "Silly girl," he chuckled. Amelia blushed more deeply and then she felt his fingertips sweep her bangs from her face, her eyes slid shut. Warm, soft lips pressed against her forehead. It was so embarrassing, but it felt so good…

All too quickly, it was over. She opened her eyes and felt a hand rest on her head, "I'll be back as soon as I can." He took his suitcase and headed out the door. "I promise."

Snapping out of it, Amelia raced to the door just in time to catch sight of Arthur's back walking away before the elevator doors closed behind him. Déjà vu.

She felt her forehead, it still felt warm where she had been kissed. Maybe not déjà vu. But then, what was it?

* * *

The American lingered in the hallway longer than she cared to admit, but it was so hard to move from that spot. What the hell had just happened?! Seriously what the—

The elevator doors chimed and slid open, causing the pop star to jump. Was he back?! Shit! He was going to see her still standing in the hallway like a complete idiot!

Walking from the elevator was a familiar royal blue blazer and mop of tousled blond locks. Oh...it was just him. Amelia could feel her heart slow its pace and was oddly disappointed as she watched Francis approach.

"Chérie," he called, "What have you done?"

"Wha?" Amelia exclaimed, "What're ya talking about?!"

"Arthur! I just saw him walking out of the hotel! He seemed...flustered." The Frenchman raised a brow to the teen. "So, again I ask, what have you done?"

Oh hell no. "Me?! What have I done?!" Amelia's whole body felt hot, hello misdirected anger. "It's all your fault Mister 'What-is-Arthur-to-you'"? She put her hands on her hips. "If it weren't for your stupid 'advice' I'd still be mad at Arthur and we'd all be happy right now!"

"Ahh…" Francis murmured. "A lovers' quarrel, I see now," he smirked at the frustrated girl. Flipping his hair dramatically, the designer rested both his hands on either of the pop star's shoulders. "This is just like a love story, Mon Chou! You must go after him!"

"Wait, _WHAT_?!" Amelia tried to back away from the Frenchman.

"Oui! You must chase him! Follow his cab to the airport, call out his name desperately as he walks to the gate! All for the sake of l'amour!" His hands were clutching her shoulders and his eyes gleamed with excitement. "Go, you can't chase him to the airport looking like _that."_

"Wait, _huh_?" Why was she allowing Francis to guide her back into the hotel room? "No—no, no, no, no, no, no!" She protested, trying in vain to press her heels into the shiny marble floor. It was actually probably helping the Frenchman to slide her back into the bedroom and then into the closet.

"I think that cute, blue sun dress would be best!" The fashion designer said, almost choking on his words as he spied the jumbled mess of clothes peeking out from her suitcase. He gave a disdainful look, "I'll leave you to get dressed." He walked to exit the closet, "But hurry, we do not have much time!"

Amelia rolled her eyes. He wanted her to change? Fine, she'd change!

Walking out of the closet a few minutes later, it gave Amelia immense pleasure to watch the Frenchman's smiling face crumple. "What is that..?" He asked, folding his arms.

"Don't you like it?" Amelia asked, adjusting her Stars and Stripes bikini top as she slipped into a pair of worn thong sandals.

"You cannot go to the airport dressed in such a manner!" He nearly shrieked, wrinkling his nose at the sight of her denim short-shorts.

"Pshh—I ain't go'in to the airport!" Amelia grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dresser. "I'm going to the beach!" She walked past Francis as he faced palmed with a huff.

"I try so hard, and you're both impossible!"

* * *

 **Hey everyone! Sorry for such a late update. I don't even have any excuses for you-sorry!**

 **If you've read, followed, or favorited this story, I am truly honored. Thank you very much for putting up with me!**

 **Special thanks go out to Darkabyssoflove (you're such a dedicated reader, you honestly do not know how much I appreciate it) and guest, your comments are greatly appreciated. Also, thank you, EllaAwkward, not only for your comments and support, but also for trying to get the Hetalia fan-base more involved with the stories that are posted on here. For those of you who don't know, Ella is a writer who writes AND promotes stories by other writers on this site (including this story). If you have time, check her out and show your love for the fandom. ;)**

 **As always, feel free to leave feedback and opinions in the comments, or message me if you feel so moved. I'll be quite busy until the end of June and very slow/bad at responding to messages (as my friends are already well aware-sorry, everyone!).**

 **Anyway, much love!**

 **Until next time!**

 **Published 27/5/2017**

 **Word Count: 4,637**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Racing from the hotel, Arthur thought about Amelia's question. What was the Yankee to him? What was she? Huh… It wasn't really something he wanted to contemplate, but she'd looked so sad and he'd promised her an answer. He had to figure it out before he returned. Fortunately, the flight to England gave him plenty of time ponder.

In fact, the trip left him with entirely too much time to contemplate the American's question. Between fretting over what his younger brother could have done to necessitate his return to England, and his mother's insistence to come right away, he had just enough time to ponder Amelia's question. What was the girl to him? A week ago he'd have been able to answer that question quite easily, his ex - sister. Now...now he wasn't so sure.

Hadn't he gotten over her? Grown numb to missing her? Damn. Then again, why was he missing her so, even now? It was like she'd worked her way back into his life, like a splinter beneath his skin—something nearly impossible not to feel or think about.

The flight to North Carolina went quickly, followed by a fast dash to the terminal where his connecting flight to London was waiting. Then, more time to think.

She wasn't his Little Sister anymore, she'd made that point perfectly clear four years ago—painfully clear. Back then, she'd been his favorite student—so eager to learn and so happy. How had he missed the signs that something was wrong between them, that she had changed? Then, she'd left without a word.

It had been hard, he had taken her departure badly. For the past four years he hadn't wanted anything to do with the girl. It caused too much pain and anger. It was better to leave old wounds to heal—right? He hadn't wanted to be paired up for the president's ridiculous scheme, it ran the risk of letting the Yank get close to him again. It is only those close to you that have the power hurt you.

Still, he couldn't say that he regretted his decision to go along with the publicity stunt, even if he still suspected that he'd been set up. He'd missed Amelia, more than he would ever admit. She made him smile without even trying. He couldn't even stop thinking about the way her eyes sparkled with delight or how her smile could send his heart off and racing. He loved it. Wait...love?

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face as his heart began to pound and his stomach dropped. It couldn't be. No, no, he wasn't falling for the Yankee, impossible!

Sooner than expected, the pilot announced that they had reached their destination and the attendants asked for everyone to buckle in as they began their descent. Once on the ground, the Brit took his things, he'd only brought a carry on, and hastened out of the airport where his mother had a car waiting for him.

Arthur didn't have time to ponder his feelings toward the loud American at the moment, there were matters he had to deal with at present. With effort, he pressed the bubbly blonde from his thoughts as he worried over what he would find at home.

Leaping from the car, Arthur thanked the driver and sprinted up the the large stone building where his mother and brother lived in the penthouse suite. Never before had a lift moved so slowly!

Walking to the door, preparing himself for whatever he may find, Arthur tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked.

"I'm here," he called, weakly announcing his arrival and walking through the foyer. There didn't seem to be anything seriously wrong, just a tense aura lingering, but nothing traumatic.

"It's about time!" a red blur, tackled him from the side.

Sputtering, Arthur dropped his bag and tried to pry the redheaded leech from his arm. "Riley! What the—why the bloody hell are you here?!" He reeked of alcohol.

"Waiting for you to get here, you arse…" came the slow drawling response.

"Yes, we all have," a calm voice affirmed.

Looking up, Arthur saw Dylan sitting on the sofa, casually flipping through a book. There was no sign of either Alistair, Peter, or their mother. "Alright..." Arthur nodded, shrugging the clingy Irishman from his side. "And where is Mum?"

"Arthur Kirkland!" A familiarly angry voice scolded. Arthur cringed. Full name? Mother was definitely not in a good humor.

Turning his head slightly, Arthur gave a small smirk. "Hello, Mum." No greeting, no hug, not even a smile. What had he done now?

To say that Victoria Kirkland was not amused would be the largest understatement of the decade. Her usual demeanor was severe: blonde colored hair tied up in a braided bun; high cheekbones; and a mouth that rarely smiled. Now...now her eyes, that were identical to Arthur's, seemed to glow with fire—only tamed somewhat behind her slender spectacles.

Striding over to her son, Victoria glanced around, past Arthur, and out the front door that had yet to be shut. "You didn't bring her with you?" Her voice was flat and far too steady to be natural. She snapped the door shut and strode back around, completing what felt like a predatory circle around her son.

"Erm-" Arthur muttered, shifting his eyes away from his mother's only to catch a glimpse of Alastair and Peter watching the scene with rapt attention from the kitchen threshold. "You mean Amelia?" He asked. Of bloody course she'd meant Amelia! What other "her" to whom his mother would be referring. Victoria gave a single nod, obviously growing impatient. "I didn't."

Victoria hissed in frustration. "Did you know that I learnt of you and your girlfriend through idle gossip in a salon?!" Arthur winced. Oh...that's why she was angry. "I was beside myself in shame." She covered her eyes with her hand. "How can it be that my son allows his mother to learn of his first serious relationship via hairstylists drooling over tabloids?!" Removing her hand from her face, Ms. Kirkland frowned—if looks could kill…

"I...er-I…" Arthur looked to his brothers for assistance. Bad idea. Alastair, Riley, and Peter appeared to be fighting back a severe case of the giggles while Dylan was lounging on the sofa, a wry smirk half hidden by his book. Wankers! "She's not really...exactly...my girlfriend…" he muttered, his cheeks were burning.

"What?" Her voice was so low and steady, she appeared like a dragon biting back flames.

Arthur raked his fingers over the back of his head. "It all started out as this...ploy that Vargas schemed up for the agency's and then...it got out of hand…" unbridled laughter erupted from where his brothers watched, with Riley turning bright red as he couldn't catch his breath.

Victoria stiffened. "I see." She looked away from her second-youngest child. "We can talk about this at length later." Did she seem disappointed? No, never mind that.

"Mum, is that why you had me rush out here?!" He could feel the heat collecting in his cheeks and now up to the tips of his ears.

"What? No." Victoria motioned for her youngest son to approach. Happy to oblige, Peter smiled and made his way to the door, slowly shuffling with crutches tucked under his arms and his right leg wrapped to above his knee in a neon cast.

"Hullo, Arthur, you jerk!" Even crippled, the child managed to spark Arthur's anger.

"Hello yourself, you twit." He snapped, crossing his arms across his chest. Although he had felt the slightest twinge of worry, seeing Peter in that cast, all traces of the emotion had now been washed away. If the child could be that cheeky, he was fine. "What happened to you?"

"He fell out of that old tree back at the cottage," Ms. Kirkland explained, attempting to smooth Peter's messy hair. "Mrs. Cleary finally retired and I've been trying to find a nanny to stay with him after school but," she glanced over at the elder Kirkland siblings who were still chuckling into their hands, "any well-respected nanny has heard of your brothers' reputations and refuse to even meet for an interview."

Every instinct in the Englishman's body was screaming at him to turn around and run out the door. Go back to the States, meet up with a certain Yank… His skin was prickling in anticipation of his mother's next words.

"So, since you're not touring at the moment, you can watch Peter. While I find someone to be his full time nanny."

"I DON'T WANT TO BE HIS NANNY!" Arthur exclaimed—a bit louder than he intended. He was a musician, a punk-rock star, not an on-call nanny for his bratty younger brother.

"C'mon Artie! It'll be fun!" The tiny terror blinked his eyes innocently, but Arthur knew better than to be fooled by the cute-younger-brother act.

Shaking his head, Arthur pleaded with his mother. "Can't someone else do it? I'm a tad busy with...other things at the moment." Now's not the time to think about the situation that awaited him back in the States—one problem at a time! "Why me? It seems all of us are here. What about Alastair? Or Dylan?!" It was obvious to everyone why Riley couldn't be trusted with Peter, they were about the same mental age after all. But the two eldest brothers surely ought to step up.

"Alastair and Riley are going to be busy doing a few repairs at the cottage for me." Victoria replied. "And Dylan will be helping me catch up on some paper work."

Alastair came up smirking. "Besides, Art," he rested his arm on Arthur's shoulder, "you should know that you were always the responsible one."

"No, that was Dylan!" Arthur protested, pushing his brother's arm off of himself.

"If I were the responsible one," Dylan called from the sofa, still not looking up from his book, "would I have let Alastair and Riley get us into half of the shenanigans that we caused in grade school?"

Victoria scowled at the memory. "I had to ship them all off to boarding schools all over the U.K. to keep them out of too much trouble. Even then I got weekly calls from their schools." She nodded to Arthur with a small smile on her lips, "You were the only one that never got into trouble...well, until you were much older." And now he was having to pay for being "The Good One". Apparently, no good deed went unpunished.

A rough hand ruffled his hair, "Yeah, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, now you get to take the littlest Kirkland under your wing."

"Lovely. . ." Arthur scowled. It appeared as though it had already been decided. Taking his bag, Arthur looked to his mother. "Where will I be sleeping?"

"Well, Alastair and Dylan are taking the spare room and Riley volunteered to sleep on the sofa. So, you'll be sharing Peter's room, the second door to the right." Arthur took a breath, of course he was…

Perhaps seeing the expression on his face, Victoria smiled. "Don't worry, your elder brothers are only staying here tonight. They're heading out to the cottage tomorrow." she moved and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Love."

"Goodnight, Mum." he gave her a quick peck on the cheek before heading toward the room.

Slipping his cellular from his pocket, Arthur found the contact number that he hadn't used in years.

 **Arthur:** In England now. Little brother is fine, Mum just needs help caring for him. I'll see you in a week or so.

Was that a sufficient message? It seemed rather short. Then again, what else would he say? He could just not send her anything, would she even care? Thinking back to how she looked just before he left, no, no he couldn't do that. Even if she didn't care, he couldn't just leave her in the dark, she deserved to know what was going on.

Sighing, and secretly hoping that she would care, he sent the message and looked up to see the room of a preteen boy, painted blue and furnished with. . .a bunk bed. Ugh. . .

"I CALL THE TOP BED!" Peter called from the other room.

How the hell would a boy with a broken leg be able to climb the ladder to get to the bed?! Oh well, if it meant he wouldn't have to deal with climbing up the bleeding thing, it really wasn't his problem. His phone buzzed.

 **Amelia:** :)

Smirking and heart speeding to a pleasant thrum, Arthur pocketed his mobile, mentally preparing for the next week or so ahead of him. It would be over soon enough. In the meantime he had time to figure out what to say to the American. She'd be expecting an answer upon his return, he mustn't keep her waiting too long.

* * *

Over the next week, Arthur quickly fell into the role of Mr. Nanny. He would get Peter up in the morning; make him lunch (though, for some reason, the child pleaded to buy lunch at school more often than not); then he would do chores or work on music until Peter got home. Honestly, anything to keep himself from obsessing over sky blue eyes that he missed painfully. Once school was out, Arthur; tolerate pretentious pre-teen television—or worse—pre-teen "friends" coming to visit.

Actually, as awfully melodramatic and mind numbing as the television programs could be, Peter's little friends were ten-thousand times worse. First, there was a little chap called "Erland" or something like that, he was a little red-headed, self-proclaimed leader of the group (a point that he and Peter fought vehemently about). Then there was Wendy, a little girl with an Australian accent and a very high opinion of herself. Finally, the quietest of the group, fair-haired, twin braided, Leopold. He would be the most tolerable as he was generally quiet though the child did have an unnervingly odd streak at times—something Peter claimed to be "artistic".

They all attended the Beautiful World Academy London, where Victoria Kirkland was the current Headmistress. It was a wonder that she was able to tolerate all of the energetic, young celebrities in training.

Tolerating the motley crew's chatter was grueling, Arthur tried to focus on preparing dinner, but the persistent whine of prepubescent voices were like nails on a chalkboard. Though he couldn't make out what they were saying, their capacity for annoyance could make the act an Olympic sport.

"Arrrthuuur!"

"Bloody..! WHAT?!" Arthur snarled, as the sauce he had been trying to prepare spattered in his face.

"Can we order in?" Peter asked, "None of my friends like your cooking."

"Then maybe your friends ought to go home and eat dinner with their own families," Arthur replied. Honestly, the nerve!

"But Arrrthuuuurrrr…" Peter whined, eyeing the stove with obvious apprehension.

The older Brit crossed his arms and stared his younger sibling down. "No."

"Arthur-"

"I said 'no' already, Peter. If your friends don't want to eat here then they can have their parents come and pick them up, I really couldn't care-"

"Arthur, whatever is in that pot just caught in fire," Peter said matter-of-factly, pointing to the stove behind his elder brother.

Whirling around, Arthur saw red tongues of flame dancing from the contents of the pot. Stringing a slew of curses and profanities together, Arthur quickly grabbed the top for the pot and slammed it over the source of the fire and switched off the stove top.

"Whoa, it stinks like smoke in here," Wendy poked her head into the kitchen and wrinkled her nose. Her gaze rested on the smoking pots on the stove, "We're not eating _that_ , are we?"

Easy Arthur, easy, she's just a child…

Sliding oven mitts onto his hands, the Brit took the pot from the cook top and walked it over to the sink. "Call in a pizza, Peter. I give up." He tried to ignore the high fives exchanged between the tweens.

Leaving the kitchen to change out of his food spattered, smoke-stained shirt, Arthur could hear Peter babbling excitedly into the telephone, reciting an order that could feed an army of brats rather than just the four that were camped out in the main room. "Put it on the tab and have it delivered," he called down the hall. There was no way he was going out to pick up a bloody pizza and leave the four little beasts home alone.

Having arrived home, a curious thing occurred that always happened when he stayed with his mother. The Brit found that his normal clothes had all disappeared, replaced by trousers of more neutral colors and sweaters—so many bloody sweaters!

Of course, all of his normal clothing would return to his closet at the conclusion of his stay. But when his mother had time to make the switch was always a mystery to him. Oh well, no matter. Though the clothes Victoria had apparently deemed 'acceptable' left much to be desired in style, they were perfect for going unnoticed in the heart of a bustling city. In fact, most of the sweaters were so bland that they almost begged not to be looked at for any length of time. Thank God Amelia wasn't here to see him like this…

Having changed, Arthur hadn't noticed how quiet the flat had become. That is, until there was a scream from the front room. "What in the world-" Racing to the source of the sound, the rock star found his younger brother and friends huddled around the television.

"What are you all doing?!"

"Norden is on the Telly!" Peter cheered, jumping up and down on the couch.

"They're _soooo cool!_ " Wendy cheered, hugging a pillow to her chest and squealing.

"They're okay, I guess…" Erland said, eyes glued to the screen and lips curled into a tiny smile as Leopold nodded silently in agreement.

On the screen were images of Berwald, Mathia, Tino, Lukas, and Emilie in concert. _"Presale begins Friday!"_ A voice from the Telly announced. _"See performances by: Sadik Adnan, Im Yong Soo, Erika Vogel, Norden, and more. All leading up to the grand finale…"_ Suddenly, the screen showed images of Alastair, Dylan, Riley, and himself performing live. God, he hated seeing clips of himself, cringeworthy.

" _The Beasts of Britannia will reunite with the Princess of Pop in a one-night special event…"_ Then Amelia was in the screen in her full costume and makeup. She looked just like she did that night that seemed so long ago, as flawless as a child's doll—a princess in every sense of the word. And yet… although she looked stunning—all but perfect, really… Arthur found that he felt a pang of disappointment, he missed seeing her as she normally was, without the makeup and ruffled clothes. He wanted to see her eyes without thick shadow, he missed the sight of her soft lashes—not ones slathered in mascara and covered with false lashes. He wanted to see her hair, soft and slightly frizzy right after it had been washed, while it still smelt strongly of the apple shampoo she used. She was beautiful either way, but this idol persona could never compare to the person he knew behind the lights and makeup.

"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh…." Peter cat called, "Arthur, stop drooling over Ms. Amelia—she's waaaayyy out of your league!"

Arthur shook his head, "What?! I—" turning around, he was faced with four pairs of eyes staring at him. How much had Peter told his little friends? He had told the little pain that he couldn't go telling the world about Vargas' secret publicity stunt.

"It's hard to believe she's going out with a grump like him," Erland stated, earning head nods from his three companions.

Wendy looked at the rock star. "Especially when he dresses like _that_." Okay, that was adding insult to injury, he didn't choose these bloody sweaters. Besides, he'd seen Amelia in her bedtime, teddy bear onesie, not exactly haute couture.

"It is a mystery." Leopold agreed. Okay, it was official. Arthur hated every single one of Peter's friends.

"That's it," the elder Brit snapped, flicking the television off, "after dinner you're parents are coming to pick you all up."

"Hey! Mum said that I could have my friends sleep over!" Peter argued, jumping up and crossing his arms—if the child re-broke his leg... "You can't just make them go home!" He tried to stare his elder brother down.

Arthur met his glare. "Mum isn't here and I am you babysitter at the moment. So, I'm saying that after dinner your annoying little friends are going home."

"But I—" Peter was almost immediately interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Arthur held his hand up. "Not another word. That's your pizza, you'll eat it and then your friends are going home." He turned on his heel, walking to the foyer to retrieve the food.

Peter set his jaw and didn't say anything more, choosing to keep glaring at his brother instead. No wonder Mum was having such a difficult time trying to find someone to keep an eye on him after school. Arthur wouldn't wish this duty on anyone, caring for almost-teenagers was the absolute worst job on the planet. Between putting up with Peter and his friends and trying to sort out the situation with Amelia, Arthur couldn't remember a time where he'd been more miserable being back home.

"Hello," Arthur said, opening the front door, "thank you very much—" his breath caught in his throat. Tall, strong build, ash blond hair—it was most certainly not the pizza delivery person. Ivan Braginsky stood before the door, smiling, and balancing three boxes of pizza easily on one hand.

"Hello, Arthur, long time no see." The Russian smiled gently.

* * *

 **Wendy = Wy**

 **Erland = Ladonia (I could not find a name for him but I guess this is what he's callled sometimes...whateves...)**

 **Leopold = Kugelmugel**

 **Happy Canada Day! 150 years, wow! Sorry, you weren't in this chapter, much love!**

 **Thank you for putting up with such a long time between updates. I do apologize. Thankfully, the first phase of my project at work is complete so I should have more energy to write *fingers crossed*. Seriously, enrolling participants into a study is tedious and boring, I'm so glad that's over!**

 **Also, I'd like to announce that I plan on publishing the first chapter of my next project in honor of the USA's Independence Day. It will be a very different fic from this one and feature canon-verse characters as well as parallel countries. So, if that sounds like your cup of tea, be on the look out.**

 **Thank you all who read, favorited, and followed, I really appreciate it. Darkabyssoflove, Guest, Kiche331, and EllaAwkward, thank you all especially, your comments always made writing a little easier and keep me accountable. Lol. It even seems like the secret police found me, glad that you didn't have to give a warning. I'm honored ;D**

 **As usual, if you feel so inclined, feel free to chat with me. Since the first phase of the project is over, I should be done with my impromptu Hiatus. Much Love!**

 **Published: 1/7/2017**

 **Word Count: 3,654**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya**

It was a moment before Arthur could think to react. What was the Russian doing in England? Or, more to the fact, what was he doing here, at the Brit's doorstep? He was Amelia's ex-boyfriend...a Russian national, other than working at the Agency's Academy in London, he really shouldn't have a reason to be in England, much less the Kirkland residence...

"The pizza delivery person seemed to be in a hurry, he left these with me," Ivan explained as though reading Arthur's mind, nodding to the pizza boxes in his hand. Huh, probably scared the poor lad away, Arthur mused.

Fighting the almost overwhelming urge to slam the door shut, the Brit couldn't quite force a welcoming look. Instead, he continued to stare at the taller man in shock, while Ivan continued to smile.

"Hey!" a heated voice yelled. Turning, Arthur was just in time to see Peter stomping over to the door. "If my friends have to go, we should at least get hot pizza before they leave!" The younger Brit marched up to the dance consultant and took the boxes from his hand before giving him a closer look. "Hey," he squinted his eyes, "don't you work with Mum at the agency?"

"Da," Ivan nodded. "Sometimes...though today I'm here to talk to your brother."

Peter glared at Arthur. "Then please come in," the tween invited the Russian into the house. The twat! He watched enough television and read enough magazines to _know_ Braginsky was Amelia's ex and the brat still invited him inside. "Unlike _some_ people I have manners," Peter muttered under his breath—just loud enough to be heard by both of the elder men.

Watching his younger brother retreat into the loft, Arthur had the overwhelming urge to kick the boy. Damn, no time for that now. Now, he had a Russian guest.

"Come in," he repeated tightly, stepping aside so Braginsky could enter the threshold. Once the ash-blond man was in, Arthur turned from the foyer toward the kitchen. "May I offer you something to drink?"

"Mr. Kirkland, let's drop the pleasantries."

Arthur turned to see Ivan still standing in the foyer, a very serious look on his countenance. They both knew it was no use to pretend that this was just a friendly visit—there was no way that they'd ever be friends. "Okay." Arthur folded his arms and took a breath. "What do you want, Braginsky?"

The Russian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I was sent here by Mr. Fernández Carriedo." Arthur instinctively clenched his jaw at the sound of the Spaniard's name. Damn that bloody dancer, of course he had a hand in this. Raising an eyebrow, Braginsky continued. "Apparently you 'fled the country' before he had the chance to teach you the routine for the show."

"Now, wait just a moment!" Arthur cut in. "I did no such thing! I-"

Ivan held up a hand to silence the annoyed Brit. "Regardless of your reason, he got permission from President Vargas to send me here to train you in his stead."

Why?! Why Braginsky?! Of all the choreographers in the agency, why did the Damn Spaniard have to choose the Russian?! Actually, looking at Braginsky's face, he felt much the same about this arrangement. Oh, Antonio would pay for this, guaranteed.

"Let us go, I have the Academy's dance studio downtown reserved for the night." Braginsky turned toward the door.

He couldn't be serious. "Right this minute?" Arthur asked incredulously. "I can't, I am babysitting my younger brother and three of his friends at the moment."

Braginsky paused, frowning slightly. "Well that won't do…" He thought for a moment before nodding. "Of course, my sisters are waiting downstairs, we can have them babysit while we practice. They've babysat for your mother before, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"I really don't think-" It was too late, the Russian was already on his phone, with a tight smile on his face, and walking out the door to speak with his sisters. Pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose Arthur walked into the main room where Peter and his friends were once again huddled around the television. This time they were engrossed in a sitcom starring some familiar faces from the agency.

"I'll be going out for a while," he said.

Four faces turned to look at him. "You mean, we're gonna be left home alone?" Peter asked, completely neglecting to hide the excitement in his voice.

Immediately, Arthur had visions of wild preteen parties, broken furniture, empty bottles of alcohol… No, no, Peter wasn't like him at that age. It was more likely that he'd use all the clean linens to make a fort and raid the kitchen for sweets and treats of all kinds. But, still….

"Don't be daft," Arthur chided, placing his fists in his hips. "I'm going with Mr. Braginsky to practice for the concert. While I'm gone his sisters will be in charge."

"Irunya and Natalia?" Leopold asked, as Wendy hummed in excitement beside him.

"I'm not entirely sure to be honest," Arthur admitted. "Have they babysat before?"

"Oh yes, two or three times," Peter nodded. "Natalia is so cool!"

"And Irunya makes awesome snacks," Erland added.

The front door opened once again. "Okay, it is all settled," Ivan Braginsky immersed from the foyer. "Ms. Kirkland has given her permission for my sisters to babysit." He was followed by two women. "Arthur, this is Irunya, my elder sister," Ivan nodded to the taller of the two women. She had short, ashen hair, an impressive bust, and a kind face.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Mr. Kirkland." She seemed so sweet and innocent, it was hard to believe that this was Braginsky's sister—and his older sister at that.

Then a slightly shorter girl walked in. She was beautiful, with long, ashen hair similar to the other two, tied with a ribbon. Unlike Irunya, however, she did not smile at all. Instead, she looked Arthur up and down, not even trying to hide the fact that she was doing so. Her eyes were like knives.

Ivan cleared his throat. Was it Arthur's imagination, or did he seem a bit uncomfortable as well? "And this is my baby sister, Natalia."

Natalia stiffly nodded to the Brit before walking past him, toward the children. "So, what are we watching tonight?" She asked, gracelessly flopping down on the sofa between Peter and Wendy.

Arthur sighed. At least she seemed to like the children.

The ride to the dance studio was one of the most quiet and awkward that Arthur could remember. With Braginsky offering to drive and Arthur unable to come up with a convincing enough reason why they shouldn't carpool, the Brit found himself trapped within the confines of a small car, staring out the passenger side window as though his life depended on it.

When the vehicle finally came to a halt, Arthur couldn't leap from the car fast enough. "Oh, thank god." He muttered. The ride home was not one that he was looking forward to. Perhaps he could convince one of his brothers to pick him up…

"Let's go." Ivan twirled a ring with a single key around his finger. The Brit followed slowly, as the tall Russian led the way into the dark building. "This is where the dancers in training come, it'll be perfect for you."

Arthur frowned at that statement but said nothing. It was a nice dance facility—even if it were just for training the new talent. Passing through the waiting area and into the auditorium, he noted the quaint, but elegant decor. From the auditorium, they took the stairs at the back of the stage, up to one of the practice rooms in the stories above.

"So...what song has Vargas chosen for the final number?" Arthur asked, watching as the Russian turned on the sound system and began to flip through the available tracks.

"I don't know," Ivan answered. The cheerfulness in his voice seemed forced. Well, at least Arthur wasn't the only one who was miserable.

"How am I to learn dance steps to a song I haven't even heard?" He deadpanned, arms crossed.

Sighing, Braginsky selected a song and shrugged off his coat, leaving the scarf wrapped around his neck. Did he ever take that thing off?

"Just follow my lead, Kirkland."

The practice went fairly well, the steps that had been chosen weren't too different from the moves that the Beasts usually used in their concerts. Sharp moves; making good use of the stage; and, of course, swearing at the top of your lungs when you stumbled through the choreography.

After a particularly spectacular stumble, Arthur decided that he had had enough. "Look, we've been at this for over an hour and you've only shown me the first minute into the song." He crossed his arms and frowned. "Can't we move on to something else?" He had practiced this portion of the routine to exhaustion and his body was revolting against performing the monotonous moves for what must have been the hundredth time. "The rest of the song's choreography, perhaps?" He snapped. Ugh. Those damned violet eyes had been scrutinizing him for the past hour, though he hadn't corrected him in over thirty minutes, Arthur could feel the Russian's glare like ice on his back.

It was Braginsky's turn to frown. A sound that resembled a hiss crossed his lips. "If you wish," the dancer muttered. It was obvious that he did not want to practice another part of the routine.

"I do." Arthur confirmed, eyes locked onto the other man. The hostility was almost tangible, he resolved not to let the man out of his sight.

"Very well." The Russian clicked off the music that had been playing in the background. "The next portion of the performance will have you and Amelia dancing together." He started to play classical piano music and scowled as he walked over to the Brit. "I had brought my sisters to help with this...but no matter. I will have to help you instead."

Arthur stood his ground as Ivan approached and came to a halt right in front of him. "O-kay…" He stared up, he was not going to be intimidated by Amelia's ex. "And what does that entail?"

Rather than answer, the Russian rested his right hand on the rock star's shoulder and grabbed Arthur's right hand with his left. "Rest your other hand on my waist," Ivan commanded.

"I'd rather not," Arthur muttered, trying to slip out of the Dancers grasp.

"Would you prefer to take the part of the lady and have my hand on your waist?" There was something threatening about that statement, it made the Brit's skin crawl.

 _Get out, get out!_ The voice inside Arthur's head screamed. Instead the rock star set his jaw and placed his hand on the others side, making sure not to break eye contact with the taller man.

"Good," Ivan nodded. "Now, lead ten steps forward then turn sharply to the left and take five more steps, all while moving in a circular rotation. After that, pull Amelia close and then spin her out using one hand and let her go."

Taking a breath Arthur tried to do as he was told. He also tried to ignore the hard muscles he could feel in the Russian's waist; ignore the uncomfortably tight grip that was almost crushing his hand; ignore how the twat towered over him… This was Ivan Braginski, a man with many talents, the man to whom Amelia so often turned to when she was sad or upset. The man who Arthur currently was forced to take lessons from…that irritated the Brit more than anything.

He started to dance and pulled the Russian along, going forward while spinning the spare in a circular motion, not unlike the circular movements of a waltz. One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten steps, now turn left. One...two...three...four...five steps. Arthur stopped at that point, successfully dragging the dancer with him through the portion of the routine. Wanting no chance to get closer to the man than absolutely necessary, Arthur pulled away from Braginsky rather than pulling him close to spin him.

Ivan all too readily stepped away as well. "Do you always lead with such brute force?" He glared at the Brit. "When you lead, you're supposed to provide guidance to your partner and move with them, not pull them along like a rag doll. Try again."

Gritting his teeth, Arthur stepped closer to the Russian, once again taking the start position. This time, he took care not to drag the Russian. Rather, he firmly took the lead and set the pace, briskly controlling the speed as they moved down stage and to the left.

"There, what about that time?" Arthur huffed, once again moving away from the dancer.

"You like to be dominant, don't you Kirkland?" It wasn't a question, not really.

Arthur nearly choked at that allegation. "I-I…" What type of person said such things? "What kind of question is that, Braginsky?!" He could feel heat in his cheeks.

"I already told you," Ivan sighed, "if you're leading, you cannot simply overpower your partner, you have to move as one." Taking steps toward the Brit, the ashen haired dancer scowled, "Looks like I'll have to teach you to submit…"

"Wha-" before Arthur could ask what the Russian meant, Ivan placed one hand on Arthur's waist and clutched the other tightly around the Brit's hand.

"Arthur, put your hand on my shoulder and we'll get started," the Russian commanded. When Arthur made no move to answer the other man's forceful request, Ivan sighed, though it sounded more like a growl. "Come now, Kirkland, the sooner we get started, the sooner we can both go home, da?"

Arthur huffed, holding the Russian's glare. "And if I refuse?"

"Then it will be a long night for the both of us, comrade." Any forced kindness or civility had been dropped from the larger man's voice. His eyes bore back to Arthur's with such harsh coldness, Arthur felt that the man must be made of ice.

Growling, Arthur placed a hand on the dancer's shoulder, clasping it roughly and feeling his temperament returned by the slightly painful grasp the other had on his waist. "Fine. Lead then," he muttered narrowing his gaze at the man who no longer was pretending to smile.

"Keep up," Ivan muttered. Once they started, Ivan pressured Arthur to move in accordance to his steps, pulling the Brit along and forcing him to complete the steps in his time. "You see, Kirkland, when the lead is too dominating, the partner is reduced to little more than a slave to the master's will." He forced Arthur back, waltzing further than the simple steps to the dance.

 _He's testing me_ , Arthur thought. _Well, I won't give him the satisfaction._ The Brit followed along, being guided by brute force, but refusing to back down or insist that Ivan stop the dance. Whenever he made a misstep, Ivan was quick to correct him, jerking him back in formation.

"Even though I am the teacher here, do you like being forced to bend to my will?" The question was asked darkly. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that the Russian was enjoying forcing him into servitude. They began rounding out the circular steps once more. "When there is no give and take from both dancers, the dance is strained." He pushed Arthur back for a few steps and then pulled him forward, roughly completing the circle. "It is a dishonest and Unstable dance."

"What are you driving at?" The rock star hissed, quickly tiring of the riddles.

"Personally, couldn't care less if this idiotic publicity stunt fails," he muttered, still imposing his will over the direction of the dance. "However," Ivan eyed the Brit skeptically, "Amelia is my ex, after all…"

There it was, finally calling attention to the elephant in the room. Arthur couldn't figure Ivan out. Just what was he trying to prove? He helped the president with this stunt, albeit with evident disdain. He got along well with Amelia, given the vague, shadowy backstory the Brit currently knew of their relationship. And yet, there was always that cloud of doom and dread that followed the dancer and made the rockstar uneasy. Was it jealousy? Concern? What made him tick…?

Braginsky sighed and released Arthur mid-step, shaking his head and pressing a hand to his eyes. "How is it that you always get in my way..?" Arthur raised a brow: relieved to be released; aggravated for being forced to dance in the first place; but, mostly, confused as to what the Russian was talking about. He didn't seem to be talking to Arthur...more to himself.

Ivan walked over to where he had left his coat. Turning back to the Englishman, the dancer shook his head tiredly, "We're done for tonight. It seems that your ride home is waiting."

"What?" Arthur looked around and spied a mess of dark auburn hair leaning against the doorway. Alastair had his eyes trained on Arthur, illuminated by the cigar he had pressed to his lips, silently demanding that he come quickly. When had he arrived? And with the Russian's sisters?!

Walking from the door toward Ivan and himself, two silvery blondes joined their brother; Irunya smiling and waving to the brothers while Natalia simply scowled. "Goodbye, Kirkland. I will see you tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock." Ivan turned and began to lock up the practice room as Irunya and Natalia followed suit.

Arthur nodded, resisted the mild reflex to help straighten up, and walked over to where his elder brother was waiting. "How did you know where I was?" he asked.

Rather than answering right away, Alastair pressed his hand against the back of the blond's neck and pushed him through the doorway toward the stairwell. "Mum asked me to take Irunya and Nat home." He muttered, taking a drag from his cigar. "But I figured ye'd want a quick getaway right about now, so I brought them here."

Arthur smirked, Alastair rarely was the kind of big brother that gave a damn about his siblings well being. At least—he rarely showed it. Hell, he'd taught Arthur to ride a bicycle by putting him atop Reilly's two wheeler and pushing him down one of the hills near the cottage. . .right into a creek. . . Still, Arthur wouldn't complain when his elder brother actually came through for him.

"Right." The blond agreed, looking back to his brother and eyeing the curling trail of smoke that lingered behind them. "I don't think they allow smoking in the building."

"Ye want me ta give ye back to Braginsky?" Alastair snarled, eyes glittering at the idea.

Arthur chuckled. "No, it's fine." He led the way out of the studio into the crisp night.

"Damn right," the redhead snarled. "Now get in the car."

The rock star all too willingly obliged and his brother started the car. Mile after mile, the pair made their way home through the dark city streets. The silence that followed in the ride home was welcomed...or it would have been if the red headed brother hadn't started speaking.

"Have ye talked to Amelia lately?"

Stealing a glance over to the driver, Arthur noted that Alastair hadn't taken his eyes from the road, but the way his jaw was set suggested that he was more interested in an answer than the nonchalant question let on. "Actually, I haven't," Arthur admitted. How could he? When next they spoke, she would undoubtedly want an answer. Deep down, Arthur knew that he was avoiding thinking of the answer that the Yankee demanded to know. What was she to him?

Before, he would have said that she was merely his former sister, that she meant nothing to him. Suddenly, he was having to face the possibility that, that may not have been entirely true. When someone means nothing to you, you don't go out of your way to avoid them; the mere thought of them doesn't elicit a painful ache; and you most certainly don't dream about them on the rare occasion that your insomnia allows you sleep. Not that he would _ever_ admit to any of that being true. However, it did complicate things. Was there such a fine line between love and hate? Was there—?

Eyes widening, Arthur turned to regard Alastair. Alastair, the eldest brother who was also the most rough and blunt in demeanor. The brother who routinely mocked the younger boys and rarely had a nice thing to say about anyone. Yet, despite all of his shortcomings surely, surely Alastair cared for, perhaps even loved, his family.

"Alastair…"

The redhead grunted in response, still not looking away from the road.

"Would you say...er...would you say that you like our family?" Arthur asked, trying to be delicate about the situation.

"Wot the hell kinda question is that?" Alastair bellowed, finally swinging his head to meet Arthur's stare. He tightened his fists around the steering wheel and turned back to the road. "'Course I like our family. You lot are a pain in my arse, but that doesn't mean I like you any less, you're my kin."

"What about love?" Arthur pressed.

"Why do you—"

"Just answer the damned question!" The younger urged, leaning closer to the drivers side.

"Aren't you a little pisser," the redhead snarled quietly. "If you have to know…" He paused, thinking for a moment. "I suppose I do...feel that for you all. Mum and Peter included." He shifted a look to Arthur. "Why?"

Arthur shrugged and pressed back into his seat. "Trying to determine if having difficulties expressing affection runs in the family."

"Ah…" Alastair snickered a bit. "Well then, trying to figure out what you feel for little Amelia, huh?" He pulled into the private garage of their mother's flat. Arthur didn't answer as his elder brother parked the vehicle. "I suggest you hurry up with that then."

Arthur stepped out of the car and folded his arms. "Oh? And why is that?"

Alastair started toward the lobby. "Francis called, I guess Amelia was asking why you weren't back yet…"

"Why didn't she just call?" The blond asked.

Smirking, the elder brother shrugged. "I'd just figure out what you're going to say to her, if I were you."

"Yeah…" the younger brother nodded, following Alastair into the building. Nodding to the door man, the pair walked to the lift and pressed the button to the top floor. "Are you staying the night?" Arthur inquired, leaning against the paneled wall as the small room made its way to the penthouse.

"Nah, just gonna tell everyone goodnight before heading back to the cottage." Alastair shoved his hands into his pockets as the lift doors opened and the brothers made their way to their mother's doorstep.

Before Arthur could even pull out his keys to open the door, it swung open.

"Arthur!" A wide eyed Peter exclaimed, clutching his brother's arm tightly. "You'll never guess who's here!"

As he was towed into the flat, Arthur raised an eyebrow and glanced to his brothers. "Who?" Peter didn't answer, but simply grinned with a mischievous glimmer in his blue eyes. "Peter I don't appreciate these games…" He stopped short as he entered the main room.

There, seated on the sofa, Victoria Kirkland sat with a cup of tea, her gaze locked into his. "Welcome home, love." Also seated on the sofa, a short ways away from his mother was a familiar head of wheat-blonde hair. No, it couldn't be...why was _she_ here? "We have a guest."

Turning, Amelia faced Arthur with her usual smile, but something was off… Maybe it was the fact that she was wearing some of his clothes or perhaps the fact that she had a soft gold glow from time she had, doubtless, spent at the beach, but no. It was the terror in her wide, pleading eyes. Without question, Mother Kirkland was the most intimidating of all the Kirklands, and being trapped with her for any length of time was...intense… There was no mistaking what the poor American was trying to convey with those sky-blue irises:

S.O.S.

* * *

 **Peter = Sealand**

 **Irunya = Ukraine**

 **Natalia = Belarus**

 **Alastair** **= Scotland**

 **Victoria = Britannia**

* * *

 **Hi everyone, sorry for the long breaks between updates and thank you for sticking with this story. Special thanks go out to anyone who has read, followed, or favorited this tale, it really means a lot to me! EllaAwkward, Darkabyssoflove, and the guest, thank you especially for your wonderful comments! I really do love to hear from you guys...hopefully this chapter wasn't too...much.**

 **This chapter probably would've been out a little sooner, but I was fighting with myself over whether or not I should tone down the interaction between Arthur and Ivan (and the undertones that I'm sure will go with it). In the end, I decided "F that!" and decided to post the unedited version, regardless, as this update has taken long enough. So...I hope it was okay…**

 **Anyway, thank you for anyone who read the beginning my second story, _Lost Between Worlds_. It is rough and needs a good editing as it was just supposed to be a teaser to see if it would be a good story to pursue after this one—I never expected the response I received! I will continue that story as this one winds to an end.**

 **Until next time! xoxo**

 **Word count: 4,026**

 **Published 5.8.2017**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Getting on a plane and crossing the Atlantic had been easy—far easier than the American had imagined. But, hey, that's what happened when limited patience was tested, right? Snap decisions and super-last minute airfare?

Unfortunately, boarding the plane had been the only easy part of the trip. From there, everything seemed to go wrong. Starting with the moment the blonde set foot outside of the airport and found that she had left warm, sunny days back in California.

"What the crap?!" Amelia groaned, standing in the threshold and eyeing the dark clouds that sat low in the evening sky. It was nearly summer, why the hell was it so cold?! Looking down at her t-shirt and mini skirt, the American began lamenting her wardrobe choice for the trip. All she had brought was a duffle bag carry on, filled with similar articles of clothing. How was she supposed to know that England had moody weather? Well, at least she'd brought her bomber jacket.

"Pardon me," a surly voice grumbled behind the blonde.

Leaping in surprise, Amelia turned to see a group of people waiting impatiently behind her to exit the airport. "Oh! S-sorry!" How was it possible for that many people to look this grumpy? They probably saw the weather outside too…

Stepping aside, the pop star grinned sheepishly as the disgruntled mob pushed their way through the automatic doors and into the misty air beyond. None of them seemed to recognize her, which was good. She hadn't exactly told anyone of her impromptu plan. Actually she'd literally decided that she wouldn't wait anymore, packed her bag, and caught the next flight to England. So now, she was in a foreign country, without the agency's usual plain-clothed security hidden in the background.

Huh...the only downside to this plan was that she had no clue where the agency headquarters here was—London, maybe..? No, first she needed find Arthur before the media figured out where she was, while she still had the element of surprise! There was only one thing to do—speed dial seven!

Placing the phone to her ear, Amelia didn't have to wait long for a response. "Hey, Amelia, what's up?"

"Hey, Alistair!" The pop star grinned. "Quick question, you guys stay with your mom when you come to England, right?"

"Uhh…actually, we _usually_ stay at the London headquarters, but this time we're staying at our Mum's cottage in the countryside. Artie's the only one who's staying at our Mum's flat this time."

Amelia smirked, she'd tracked down the rockstar. "Could you send me the address to your mom's apartment, pretty please?" She worked on her puppy-dog pout, widening her eyes and pressing out her lip before realizing that there was no way that Alastair could see her over the phone.

On the line, Alistair sighed. "Why do you need to know that?"

"Um…because I might—MIGHT—be chilling at the airport trying to make a plan of what to do now that I'm in England…"

There was a frustrated sigh from the other end on the call. "Where are you, Ame?"

"At the airport, duh!" Amelia laughed.

"Which one?"

The American froze. "Wait, there's more than one airport in England?" She looked around. "The one in London? I think?"

Alistair growled in what sounded like frustration. "That doesn't narrow it down. Just...hang on, I'll look up who received a flight from the U.S. and come get you."

"'Kay!" Amelia smiled. "Thanks Al!" She heard a grunt in response before the line went dead.

After waiting in the lobby for a few minutes longer, Amelia pulled her jacket closer and went outside to wait for the redhead. After about ten minutes of jumping hopefully at the light of every passing vehicle, Amelia finally spotted the eldest Kirkland brother as he pulled up to the curb and exited the car.

"Oi!" He grumbled walking up to the girl and resting a hand heavily on her head. "You should know better than to be waiting outside, by yourself, at night."

"Aw!" Amelia laughed, only succeeding in getting the rocker to ruffle her hair more vigorously before taking her bag. "Haha! You almost sound like Artie!"

"Rude." Alistair muttered, flinging the duffel bag into the trunk. "Alright, get in!" He commanded, walking around to the drivers side as the American let herself into the car. "I'll drop you off at mum's, I'm sure you want to see Artie"

Amelia felt heat rush into her cheeks. "W-wha?! What makes you think that I want to see him?"

"Well, that blush is a pretty good indicator," Alistair stated, starting the car with a smirk curling onto his lips. Amelia immediately smacked her hands to her face and turned to stare out the window. "Also, I doubt you came to see Rei and me fix up the old cottage." When Amelia didn't answer Alistair laughed and pushed a little further. "Oh, and Francis called, apparently you weren't home when he went to visit and he had a hunch on where you might have run off to—he said you'd been asking about Art."

"THAT BIG MOUTHED FRENCHMAN!" Amelia fumed, finally turning to face Alistair. It wasn't that it wasn't true. She HAD asked Francis if he knew what was keeping Arthur in England, she just hadn't expected the designer to go blabbing to the Kirkland family!

From his profile, Amelia could see that Alastair was smirking. "I haven't told Artie anything—don't want to give him a big head, you know?" His smile disappeared. "Francis also said that you were waiting for Arthur to answer a certain question for you?"

Amelia hid her face in her hands, wishing for nothing more than to have a black hole swallow her up. She could hear Alistair chuckle, but was grateful when the eldest Kirkland brother didn't press the subject.

The rest of the drive was filled with silence. Awkward silence. Amelia was slightly surprised when the trip was over and they pulled into the private garage of a lavish apartment tower. "Are these the rooms for the company's London branch?" She asked tilting her head for a better look.

"Nah, this is where our Mum and younger brother live. The agency's headquarters is deeper into London. This place is good for keeping a low profile." He parked the car and stepped out. Amelia quickly followed the redheads lead. "Okay," Alistair muttered. "Just keep your head down, no need to stir up any attention until we call Beilschmidt and get extra security detail for you."

Amelia shuttered. "Do we have to tell the agency?" Alistair raised an eyebrow, indicating for the girl to continue. "I...uh...didn't exactly tell Monica that I was leaving…"

Alistair grinned as he held the door open for the American. "Oh, I definitely want to be around for that phone call…"

"Thanks, dude…" Amelia grumbled, walking into the lobby.

"Come on, this way." Alistair took the girl's arm and led her to an elevator. "For what it's worth, I know Artie will be happy to see ya."

Her heart began to race. "Really?!"

"Yeah...he's been pretty mopey since we've been here."

Amelia followed the eldest Kirkland from the elevator. Damn it, her heart was starting to pound. Was she really this unbelievably happy over this?!

As Alistair unlocked and pushed the door open, Amelia was hot on his heels. Should she race right up to Artie and hug him? Or should she play it cool? Hmm… she'd play it by ear. Whatever happened happened.

"Big Sister?"

The terrifyingly familiar voice cut through Amelia's musings like a hot knife. Glancing around the traditionally decorated foyer, Amelia didn't have time to react before two arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders.

"N-Natalia?" Amelia stammered, unable to believe that the pale, blonde girl was truly here—in England—nearly crushing her in a bone-snapping hug. This couldn't be real, right? Damn. There was Irunya in the corner. Yep, they were really here.

"Big Sister, why are you dating the pain-in-the-ass English boy? You and Big Brother were so much better together!"

Dang, she was scary… When she and Vanya had first gotten together, Amelia would have sworn that they had been followed by his...overly protective younger sister. The girl definitely had an unhealthy hang up with her elder brother. But, as time went on, Amelia had been able to win over the mildly terrifying Slavic girl. By the time she had broken up with Ivan, Natalia had warmed to the idea of having a "Big Sister," and refused to accept that their relationship was over.

"Now now, what is all this?" Amelia was relieved when the strange voice seemed to stir Natalia to remove her arms from around the American.

"Hey, Mum. This is Amelia, Artie's girlfriend." Alastair drawled.

As Natalia moved aside, Amelia saw an older woman standing in the threshold. She had blonde hair done up in a decisively refined bun, finely chiselled cheekbones, and full brows that were arched to slay. However, it was her like-green eyes that struck the American the most. They were so familiar while simultaneously being threatening, like a predator sizing up its unsuspecting prey.

So this was Victoria Kirkland. Amelia had heard so much about her. In addition to being the mother of the Kirklands, she was also the head of the Beautiful World Agency Europe division and (if rumors were true) she was the woman who could even boss Roma Vargas around.

"Hmm...Ms. Jones?" Victoria hummed, approaching the girl with newfound interest. "Alastair, take Natalia and Irunya home, will you please?" Her eyes never left Amelia's face. "I believe Jones and I need to get to know one another."

Oh God… Amelia glanced over to Alistair who seemed annoyed at the request. "What am I, a bleeding cabbie?" The Scotsman grumbled, though it was apparent that he would do just as he was asked as he opened the door for Vanya's sisters. "Alright ladies, let's move. I ain't got all right…"

Victoria hummed in amusement. "Thank you, love."

Slowly Natalia walked out the door, scowling the whole way. Amelia's last hope died as Irunya waved and Alistair shut the door a little too roughly. Where the hell was Arthur?!

As Victoria continued to stare Amelia could feel herself cracking under the pressure. What did this woman want? Why was she just staring at her like that? She had been an idiot for coming to England and not expecting to meet Arthur's mom, this was her apartment after all. She was still staring...she must be wanting her to say something…

"Uh… Hello." Her mouth felt unbelievably dry. "I-I'm Amelia. It's nice to meet you." Her heart was racing now for a completely different reason...if it kept up like this, she'd surely die of a heart attack.

"Come," the English woman said, turning and walking into the next room. "Arthur won't be home for a while, so we can get to know one another."

Wait, Arthur wasn't home?! Crap! Following the woman deeper into the apartment, Amelia felt like she was moving through a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. Her body seemed to move slowly, even though her heart was working hard enough for her to be running through a marathon. "Please take a seat, I'll turn on the kettle and make some tea." She motioned toward a sofa that the American gratefully collapsed onto without protest.

Why did she care so much what this woman thought? Why was she so scared of her? Amelia clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking, she had enough adrenaline coursing through her veins to run ten marathons. Why was she letting this woman get to her? Why...was she wearing these clothes?!

Once again Amelia looked down at her t-shirt and short skirt in dismay—no—horror. No wonder the woman had been staring at her! Jeez! If she'd known that she'd be meeting Arthur's mom she'd have dressed differently. Hell, she would've worn something more like what Francis was always trying to get her to wear...a dress or—or something like that!

Standing, Amelia tried to tug the skirt down in an attempt to make it look a little longer. Ugh...it was no use! Sitting back down, Amelia started to run her fingers through her hair vigorously, she hadn't brushed it since before she got on the plane! Why, oh why, was this how she was to meet Ms. Kirkland?!

All too soon, Victoria returned, holding two mugs of steaming tea. "Sorry for the wait." She handed one of the cups to Amelia. "It's so nice to finally meet you, I feel as though we ought to have met before since you have been a large part of my sons life for so long."

Her words were so crisp and almost impersonal, it was hard to know if she were remotely happy to meet the American or if she were plotting some kind of Hitchcock-esque murder. Amelia looked at the woman, trying to decipher her words when she realized that she was looking at her expectantly. Words! Ahh! She was waiting for her to respond. "Uhh...yeah…" Amelia murmured lamely. "It's nice to meet you too…"

Victoria blinked and sipped her tea. "Well," she cleared her throat. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Um...o-okay…" Amelia racked her brain for something—anything that she could say about herself. "I uh...I like to sing…" By the look on Victoria's face, that was not the kind of information she was looking for. Amelia mentally slapped herself. Ugh, so stupid! Of course she liked to sing! She was a freaking pop star! A pop star that worked for the Agency that the woman helped to run!

With nothing else to do, Amelia quickly brought the mug to her lips and took a sip of tea. As though she weren't being punished enough for this extremely unfortunate first meeting with Arthur's mom, the tea burned her tongue and throat, and made her eyes water slightly from the pain. She didn't even like tea!

"WHOA! NO WAY!" Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin upon hearing yet another unfamiliar voice. Turning her head towards the hallway, she was surprised to see what looked like a mini Arthur standing in the room. The boy limped a bit closer, that's when Amelia noticed that he was sporting a cast on one leg. "You're Amelia F. Jones!" The boy exclaimed.

His excitement put Amelia at ease, she couldn't help but laugh. "Yup, I sure am!" She grinned and looked the boy over. He did look a lot like Artie, but now at second glance she saw that his hair was a bit different and his eyes were blue, not the green that seemed to run in the family. He must be the little brother that Artie had mentioned. "What's your name?"

The boy seemed too star struck to breathe. Rather than answer the girl's question, he simply stood staring at her, mouth agape.

"He is Peter, my youngest child," Victoria answered for her son, a wry smile playing on her face. "Peter," she addressed the boy, "do mind your manners and come introduce yourself."

A huge smile grew on the tween's face. He quickly hobbled toward the American. "Hi Ms. Jones! My name is Peter, it's so good to meet you!" As he drew closer, the boy tripped over his cast and fell forward, knocking the mug in Amelia's hand. "OH, oh, I'm so sorry!"

Amelia felt heat spread over her torso and legs as the tea sloshed from the mug onto her clothes. Did that really just happen? What should she do? Should she stand? If she did tea would get everywhere. Agh! It hurt!

"Are you daft?! Stand up!" Victoria sprang up and yanked Amelia up by her elbow. The girl was speechless. This couldn't be happening, right? Victoria tsked her tongue. "Oh no, you're soaked...we'll have to get you a change of clothes. Are you alright?"

"Oh, it's okay!" Amelia tried to laugh it off. "I have extra clothes in-" she stopped. Her clothes were in her duffle bag...in the trunk of Alistair's car…

The pop star was suddenly aware that Victoria was leading her down the hall. "Here we are," she muttered, pushing Amelia through a door. "Go ahead and take off those clothes, I'll find you something to wear."

Amelia found herself in a spotlessly clean bathroom and sighed. There was nothing left to do but take off her clothes and see what the damage was. Slipping her shirt off, Amelia saw that her stomach was a little red but it fortunately didn't appear to be burned. Stepping out of her skirt, she saw that her legs were in a similar state. That was a relief.

There was a knock on the door. Amelia went and opened it just enough to peak out.

"Here you are, these ought to fit you well enough." Victoria passed a bundle to the practically naked girl.

"Thank you," Amelia murmured and shut the door. Looking at the clothes, Amelia resigned herself to putting them on. First, a pair of gray pajama bottoms that were slightly too big. She had to roll the waist and pant legs to get them to stay on. Next, a black t shirt that sported white letters that spelled out "The Beatles". These were Arthur's clothes! Amelia almost dropped the top at this realization. These were Arthur's clothes, they belonged to him… Why had Ms. Kirkland given these to her so nonchalantly?!

Staring at the clothes, Amelia could feel her cheeks begin to burn. This was a bad, bad, bad idea! Why had she done this? If she hadn't snuck onto a plane and flown to Europe, she would be at home eating dinner or getting ready for bed. She would not be trapped in Arthur's bathroom, putting on Arthur's clothes, with Arthur's mother waiting somewhere just outside the whole ordeal had her questioning every decision that had gotten her to this point. Sinking to the floor, Amelia prayed once again that she be swallowed up by a black hole.

There was a knock. "Is everything alright?"

Amelia sighed. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a sec!" Come on! Where was that black hole?!

Fate wasn't kind. After a few more minutes of dawdling, Amelia resigned to her fate and pulled on the black t-shirt. Officially, she was in Arthur's house and dressed in his clothes...she could die of embarrassment.

Walking out of the bathroom, she was glad that Ms. Kirkland was not waiting for her outside. Making her way back to the sitting room, she saw the woman seated on a sofa and sipping her tea. It was a moment before she looked up and noticed the American lingering in the threshold.

"Oh good, I'm glad that the clothes seem to fit." She motioned the girl to be seated across from her. "I am so sorry for that. Peter gets a little overly excited, but he means well."

"Oh no, it's okay," Amelia tried to smile but it felt forced. "Don't even worry about it…" She took the seat across from Victoria.

"So…" Victoria continued, eyeing the American. "You and my son are doing this publicity stunt for Mr. Vargas…" It was more of a statement than anything.

"Uh huh…" Amelia agreed quietly.

The older woman was quiet for a moment. "Is that all it is, a stunt?"

Amelia looked up. "What..?"

"Is it merely for show? Or is there something more between you and my son?" There was no mistaking the quiet accusatory tone in her voice.

Seriously, black hole, feel free to show up anytime now!

The answer to that question...well...she didn't know… That was exactly what she was waiting for Arthur to tell her! But there was no way in hell she was about to say that to his mother—a woman who looked as though she could melt snow with just her hard gaze. How could she expect the American to answer such a thing..?

"I...uh...I…" Once again her heart was pounding painfully against her chest, this time accompanied by a high pitched ringing in her ears. Rarely before had Amelia thought of herself as a damsel in need of rescuing, but at this moment she really needed a hero.

Victoria's eyes shifted up and a slow smile crept to her face. "Welcome home, love. We have a guest…"

Turning, Amelia caught sight of the green-eyed Brit that she'd come across the ocean to see and he'd never been more beautiful than now. Locking her gaze to his, she could almost cry with relief.

Arthur blinked, staring into the pop star's eyes with surprise, it was apparent that he had had no clue that she was in England—or even his mother's home. Blinking a few times, Arthur frowned slightly in confusion before his eyes glanced slightly past her to the proud matriarch. Realization sparked and he gave Amelia a pitying glance before marching fully into the room.

"Mother, what is going on here?" Arthur asked briskly, walking swiftly around to the sofa. He immediately put himself between Amelia and his mother and folded his arms.

"Oh, just chatting. You know, getting to know Amelia. It _is_ your fault that I haven't met her up till now." Amelia suppressed a shiver. That was just chatting?! That was terrifying!

"Mmmhmmm…" Arthur hummed skeptically.

"No need to be so suspicious, why shouldn't a mother get to know the girl her son is seeing?" Victoria stood. "In any case, your reluctance to give me any sort of information regarding your relationship has me a tad concerned."

"Right…" the rock star replied dryly. His shoulders were shrugged in agitation as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Mother," Arthur spoke slowly as though trying to control his temper, "my love life really is not any of your concern and I don't approve of your methods of interrogation."

Turning from his mother, Arthur took Amelia's hand in his own and led her out of the room without another word.

* * *

Hello everyone, thank you so much for reading this newest installation to this story and my apologies for the lengthy update wait. Thank you to all who have read, followed, or favorited, and a special thanks to EllaAwkward, Inky-Paws, and Darkabyssoflove for your lovely comments, you are awesome and I thank you so, so much for your support.

So… Without going into too much detail, my grandfather passed away unexpectedly a few months ago. That, along with some other family affairs really hampered my drive to write. I thought it only fair to give you some explanation as to my total abandonment of this site for a few months. Okay, moving on from such depressing topics...

Anyway, I do plan on updating in a more timely manner from here on out, but I make no promises (as I don't believe in making promises one cannot keep). However, this story will be finished, that I do promise. Your feedback is always desired: what did you think? What do you predict? These are some of the things I'd love to know, so if you could spare a moment, it would really make my week!

As always, if anyone is feeling up to chat, feel free to message me. I will be catching up on correspondence this week. ;)

Till Next Time! xoxo


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Arthur's hand wrapped around her wrist, Amelia allowed herself to be pulled into the hallway. Although relieved beyond words to be out of that situation, she could not fight the urge to look back at the Brit's mother who was still staring after them. The American expected to see a scowl on the woman's face for her son's blatant disregard for any authority she may hold as a parent. Or, at the very least, she'd expected some kind of sour expression to play on the woman's face. What she saw...was the complete opposite.

Though her arms were still folded and her gaze was locked onto Arthur and Amelia, Ms. Kirkland looked like the cat who ate the canary-a small, self-satisfied smirk played on her countenance. One way or the other, something had been confirmed for the woman and she didn't seem to mind the attitude from her son.

"Peter, go with Alistair and fetch Amelia's bag from his car." Amelia turned to see Arthur addressing the younger boy who was peeking out from a doorway as the pair walked deeper into the long hallway. Peter nodded before hobbling out of his room.

"Here we are." Arthur opened the next door and guided the American inside, flipping on the light switch.

After being pulled into the room, Amelia felt a twinge of sadness when Arthur dropped her hand and moved away from her. She watched as he walked toward a queen sized bed placed in the middle of the room and began to fuss with the blankets.

Was he not going to say anything?! With a snap of his wrists, the Brit yanked crimson sheets from the bed and let them pool to the floor before doing the same to the pillow cases, muttering under his breath.

Watching the satin material slither to the ground Amelia licked her lips, intent on saying something, yet unsure of what she should say. Really though, the element of surprise was gone...so there went the mystery...and she hadn't even said hello-or anything-to him. Now she was left in this uncomfortable silence and didn't know what to do or what to say… At the very least, she had been saved from the awkward conversation with Ms. Kirkland. Though she did feel slightly on edge, wondering what would happen next, she still felt safe.

"What are you doing here?" Amelia turned to see what the Brit was talking about. He was smoothing similarly silky sheets onto the bed, only this time they were a deep navy blue.

"...What..?" Amelia asked, fully knowing what the rock star had meant, but unready to answer the question.

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked again, this time shifting his eyes from the sheets to meet the American's eyes.

Amelia frowned, turning to look around what was apparently the Brit's room. "Well, that's a stupid question," she muttered, walking closer to the old, oak nightstand to examine its various knick-knacks. "You said you'd be back in a week or two." She looked to Arthur, face deadpan. "It's been longer than that so I came to rescue you." Turning back to the dresser, Amelia continued to inspect the boy's belongings.

"Hmph...I'm not some fainting maiden, in need of rescuing." He muttered, taking some fresh blankets and smoothing them on top of the newly replaced sheets. However, Amelia wasn't really listening anymore. There were far more interesting things to look at on his nightstand: a picture of the Kirklands all together; reading glasses; a book; and…

"What's this thingy?!" Amelia plucked the soft, plush creature from the table and held it aloft. It was a cute...thing. It was a pastel green color and about as big as a textbook, with a cheerful face, long ears, four legs, and two little wings. Amelia squeezed the soft toy against her chest-it was so soft! "A little friend of yours?" She asked, letting a teasing smirk curl on her lips.

The look on Arthur's face said it all. Wide eyes, rosy cheeks, even the tips of his ears were flushed-likely in disbelief that she had found his plushy. "That's-" he started, stopping to clear his throat before continuing. "That's...flying mint bunny…" He looked down to the bed once more, smoothing out the slight wrinkles in the blankets.

The pop star smiled at the obvious attempt to hide his embarrassment. It was adorable, though now she was torn between teasing him more (after all it was way too rare when she had him embarrassed) or putting him at ease. What to do..? Well...she was the hero after all…

"He's adorable!" Amelia smiled, flopping down on the newly made bed. "Was he your best friend growing up? Like, Maddie and Kuma?"

"Yeah…" Arthur agreed, letting out an amused huff. "Something like that…" Though his cheeks were still a bit pink, Amelia could feel the warmth in his eyes when his gaze met hers. Why couldn't it always be like this? How did so many conversations turn into battles?

Arthur shook his head, smile slipping from his face. "But, let's not change the subject. You shouldn't have come here."

"Well, why not?!" Amelia scowled, placing the mint green toy on the bed gingerly. "I have just as much right to go where I want as anyone else!" She crossed her arms, holding eye contact with the Brit. "Besides...I missed you…" _And...I hoped that...you missed me…_

For a moment Arthur just stared at her as though unsure what to say. "Amelia, I-"

"Ahem…" Jumping, Amelia and Arthur turned toward the door to see Victoria standing in the threshold. "Peter and I are retiring for the night, so no funny business." She looked at Arthur. "I expect you to sleep in Peter's room." The Brit responded with poignant silence.

Green eyes shifted to the American and Amelia instantly felt the temperature drop ten degrees, though she was sure that her face was bright red. "Y-yes, Ma'am!"

"Good. Sleep well." The blonde turned and walked toward her room.

Amelia couldn't get the courage to look up and continued to stare at the floor. She could usually laugh off bad news and embarrassing situations, but not this time. This time, all the American wanted to do was go home and hide under the covers of her own bed in her own room to forget the whole trip.

Slipping the ring from her finger, Amelia twirled and twisted it in her hands. It felt good, the old, soft metal sliding over her fingertips.

Okay, so she hadn't made the best first impression with Ms. Kirkland...whatever. There was no use worrying about that now. Taking a breath, the American tried to force herself to calm down. All she could do was confront Arthur… God help her…

Slipping her eyes from the floor, Amelia stole a glance toward the rockstar. He hadn't moved either, his eyes intensely fixed on the door.

"Arthur..?" The pop star murmured.

The Englishman swiftly held up a hand, his eyes lingering on the cracked door. Amelia held her tongue and also regarded the door with curiosity.

After several long moments of silence, Amelia heard a faint ' _click_ ' echo in the deserted hallway. Turning toward the Brit, Amelia saw that he was nodding slightly. "She's locked herself in for the night, " he muttered, raking his fingers through his already messy locks. "Come, let's go somewhere we will not be overheard." He motioned the girl to follow as he slipped out the door and into the dark apartment beyond.

 _Damn it…right when she was working up the courage…_

Growling to herself, Amelia followed closely so she wouldn't get lost. Arthur didn't bother turning on lights as he walked down the hallway, past the sitting room, and through the kitchen. Using his dimly seen silhouette as a guide, Amelia wondered how immense an apartment could be and was about to ask Arthur where they were headed, when a light was suddenly switched on.

Blinking, Amelia found herself in a room that was filled with books, lots and lots of books. Other than a large oak desk, a dark fireplace, and the windows, almost every inch of the walls was lined with bookcases. "What is this?" Amelia asked, glancing around.

"It's the study," the Brit answered, shutting the door quietly. Amelia saw that the Brit had only switched on a small table lamp, so the room remained dim and the corners shrouded in darkness. "It's the furthest area from the bedrooms, so it is unlikely that we'll be overheard."

"Oh…" it was a dumb thing to say, but she wasn't sure what to do next. After waiting for so long, how was it possible that she didn't know what to say? How was it possible that he was this calm? Her eyes focused on him, watching as he walked to the window and closed the curtains.

"I can make a fire if you'd like," He nodded toward the fireplace.

Amelia pulled her jacket closer, it was pretty chilly… No, no, if she let him get distracted now, it would be very hard to get back on topic. "Nah...I'm fine…"

Arthur raised an eyebrow but did not push the topic. "Alright," he motioned toward an old, overstuffed sofa that was positioned in front of the fireplace, "why not take a seat?"

Amelia went to the sofa and stiffly sat down. Okay, good start. Looking to the stuffy Brit she saw that he hadn't moved. Smiling, she patted the spot next to her.

"Er-" Arthur looked toward the door. "Before we start...would you like some tea-or-something..?"

"I hate tea," Amelia rolled her eyes and patted the couch once more. "Sit."

"Very well." Arthur sighed, placing himself next to the American. All was silent. Shit, now this is the part where I'm supposed to talk.. why can't I form a coherent sentence? Ugh, my head feels all foggy. "Are you feeling okay?"

Amelia closed her eyes and shook her head, refocusing on the green eyes that were staring at her. "Just wondering what I got myself into…" She tried to laugh. The look on Arthur's face showed her that he did not find her joke to be all that funny. "Uh...Yeah…" She looked down at her hands. Welp, this was it...she was officially going to die of awkwardness or embarrassment—one of the two.

"Ahem…" Averting her eyes from the teddy bear ring on her finger, Amelia looked up to a curious sight. Arthur, although posed toward her, was looking away, staring off into the dark fireplace.

"'Arthur?" Amelia reached out to touch him.

"As I was trying to say," he continued, seemingly unaware that the pop star's hand was mere inches from his shoulder. "I missed you as well…" Was she imagining it, or were the tips of his ears turning pink? Turning sharply, the Brit locked his eyes to hers. "But you really shouldn't have come…"

Amelia flinched, his words were almost enough to cause actual, physical pain. She made a fist. "Well why not?!" She glared at him. "Like I was saying, you promised that we would talk when you came back. But that would never happen as long as you're avoiding me here!"

"Amelia…"

"What?!" The girl could hardly contain her rage. How dare he keep saying that she should have kept waiting for him back home? He'd left her alone far too often when he was her "Big Brother". She couldn't count the number of times that she had been left behind while he went off with his brothers. Sure, it had been the decision of her agent, but that didn't excuse how often she had been left to simply "wait". No, she was her own person now, she was not going to wait for anyone else any longer.

"Amelia," Arthur's voice was tender, as though he was trying to placate her, "I understand your frustration, truly I do." Amelia searched his eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but could find none. "I-I should have let you know what was going on, so I apologize for that…" he took a breath, "However, coming here was a reckless decision." He squinted at her. "You probably didn't even let Vargas or Beilschmidt know that you were coming here, did you?"

The girl didn't answer, instead glancing away from his piercing gaze… He was right, but she didn't have to acknowledge it.

"But...we don't have to talk about that now." Amelia looked up and saw that Arthur too had averted his gaze. While he hadn't told her anything that she had come to find out, she decided to let that go for the time being. It was nice to not be fighting for once.

"Uh...so, how have you been?" She asked, stroking her hair.

A smirk crept onto the Englishman's face, "I've been well, though a bit bored." He glanced at her conspiringly, " You met Peter?" Amelia nodded and Arthur snickered mirthlessly. "I've been his 'nanny' ever since I've arrived back here."

"HAHA! NO WAY!" Amelia roared, imagining Arthur minding the energetic little boy. Gripping her side, Amelia could barely contain the tears that were gathering at the corner of her eyes. Arthur barely had patience to deal with her and Maddie back in the day-and he had had extra help from the company's agents! She couldn't imagine him taking care of a young child all on his own. She glanced at him coyly, "How crazy did that drive you?"

"That child drives me absolutely bonkers!" Though he was groaning dramatically, Amelia could see the playfulness in his eyes.

"Yeah well, while you were gone, I had to put up with Maddie teaching me the dance and Francis making me try on the costumes he is making for the show!" Seeing his amused smirk, Amelia went on. "Between Maddie getting annoyed that I couldn't get the footing right and Francy wanting me to hold 'perfectly still,' I felt like I was a freaking Barbie doll for them to play with!"

"Oh you poor thing," Arthur drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure Madeline was delightful, she's much more patient than you." He crossed his arms haughtily with a smirk.

"And being handled by Francis?" Amelia challenged.

"Alright, I'll concede that being touched by the Frog would be nightmare inducing for most people." The Brit nodded.

"Thank you." Amelia in the moment, the American wondered at how easy it all was, talking to Arthur like old friends. "Also, I don't know what you're talking about...Peter is cute…"

"Mmmhmmm…" the Brit hummed doubtfully, "and how did you find yourself to be dressed in my clothes?"

"Oh," Amelia glanced down at the clothes that she had on, " you heard about that?" She tried to laugh it off, but only succeeded in sounding nervous. When the crap had Arthur had time to talk to anyone about the little accident with the tea?!

"It was just a guess actually." Arthur smirked, "Though, Peter has a hand in most of the 'accidents' in this household." He glanced at the American. "Kind of like someone else I know…"

Amelia frowned, "Ya don't know what you're talking about," tossing her head, the pop star turned away from the Brit.

She could hear him chuckle. "You would get so excited you would sometimes tumble off the stage…"

"That only happened once!" Amelia defended, though she honestly couldn't recall how many times she had tumbled on (and off of) the stage.

"I recall at least two distinct instances," Arthur smirked. "After that, it stopped being surprising…"

Amelia felt as though her cheeks were on fire and looked away in an attempt to hide her surely red face. "Shoulda stopped making me wear heels after the first time," she muttered, fully aware that it had been, in fact, herself who had insisted that she wear the five inch heels.

Arthur just huffed and shook his head, "And since when have _I_ been able to _make_ you do _anything?_ " Green eyes bore into the American's blue. "You've always made it quite clear that you will do things your own way-regardless of anyone else."

The last part was snidely added and it made the girls blood boil. They were beginning to tread on thin ice, Amelia could feel it as her heart rate picked up. If she were an animal, she felt sure that her hackles would be up.

His eyes shifted away from her, apparently satisfied that she would not push the issue further, apparently assuming that she would read the atmosphere and know that it was a touchy subject. Silly boy…

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Amelia snarled, clenching her fists.

The look in his eyes said _You know what that means_ …

"Just drop it Amelia." It wasn't up for discussion, yet the pop star refused to let it go.

"I will not!" The blonde stood and glared at her companion. "I am so tired of you throwing that back in my face!" She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "Every time I start to think that we could actually be… friends," she stumbled over the word, "you have to say something about when I left the band!" She folded her arms. "I want to know why. What's the big deal?! I thought we were friends!"

Arthur took a breath and closed his eyes. "Fine."

He too stood and faced Amelia, eyes opening to reveal green pools flickering with emotion. "The big deal is that you left," his voice was eerily steady and low. "but not only did you leave, you left without even saying goodbye—"

"Are you f*cking kidding me?!" Amelia cut in, ripping her fingers through her hair. "After all this time, you're angry because I didn't 'say goodbye'?!" Her chest swelled with rage. "And you have the nerve to call _me_ childish?! What the f—"

"THAT ISN'T IT!" The Brit growled, his voice suddenly losing its cool demeanor. "And you ARE a child!" He walked toward the door before turning back. "Only a child, with a limited perception of consequences, decides that she won't wait for an answer and will just show up and demand one!" He shook his head. "The only difference is that a child does not have the means to jump on a plane and cross the ocean in response to a tantrum!"

Shaking, Amelia pursued the Brit. "It wasn't a tantrum, I listen to my heart—"

"And your head not enough," Arthur snapped. "Did you ever even stop to consider how stupid it was, coming here without alerting security?" He shook his head. "Don't even answer that, I already know that you didn't...it would have been too responsible!"

"Maybe I'm not responsible, WHATEVER! I'm not like _you!_ " Once again, they were at war. And this time, Amelia wasn't going to hold back. "I like to have fun and live, unlike some people who are all too happy being stuffy and cold!" Her mind was racing, she was shooting insults wildly. "All I wanted was to be on my own, to just be me, and not the person I was told to be! That was something _you'd_ never allow!"

"How do you know what I'd _allow_?" Arthur stepped toward Amelia, his voice was low and his eyes locked onto hers.

Amelia removed the ring from her hand and squeezed the cheap metal into her palm as she returned the Brit's glare. Somehow, the pain of the teddy cutting into her flesh made it easier to think. But, not easier to come up with a response to his question, what the hell was she supposed to say?!

It was like he had her frozen in place. Suddenly, it was four years ago and she was under the critical gaze of the green eyes she hated to disappoint. Honestly, she never understood Arthur's disapproval over her leaving the band after she had been liberated from her agent. She also never understood exactly why he had never contacted her after. Now she was expected to choke out an answer.

To her surprise, Arthur was the one who first broke the stare by looking to the floor. "Forget it…" He muttered, pressing a hand to his face. "You wouldn't understand. Just—you can stay in my room, I'll be staying out here." He turned to face the other direction.

It wasn't like the Brit to sound so defeated, especially when he was the better one at winning arguments. What was going on?

"I don't understand."

"Pardon?" He didn't turn around.

"I said, 'I don't understand,'" Amelia softened her grip on the metal and ran her fingers over the deep imprint it had left on her palm.

Silence.

It was maddening. But the American waited, praying that her patience would be rewarded by an answer.

Minutes crept by like hours. Slowly, Amelia noticed the slow ticking noise echoing softly through the room. She fought the urge to look for the clock and continued to watch the immobile male.

"To be honest," he murmured, slowly turning to meet her gaze, "I haven't quite worked out...whatever it is between us as it is." It was apparent that he was struggling to find words. "You told me, at the beginning of this whole ordeal that you did not hate me, regardless how I felt about you, remember?"

Amelia nodded, recalling the conversation they had had that first night.

"Well, I don't hate you either...I never have." Arthur's eyes were still locked into Amelia's. "Never."

Fluttering butterflies were tingling her stomach and her chest, "Well...that's a relief…" The singer felt, almost lightheaded as adrenaline continued to course through her veins. Shaking her head, Amelia frowned. "Wait...if you don't hate me...why do you always avoid me..?" She scrunched her brow as a cold tremor ran through her body. "It's not like you steer clear of someone you're, like, totally fine with…" This new doubt dampened the American's faint glimmer of hope.

"Well...it's not like you ever came to seek me out," the Brit muttered, crossing his arms and glancing away.

Amelia gritted her teeth and began to gently twirl her ring. "It never seemed like you wanted anything to do with me." She too glanced away, staring at the books spines, but unable to make out their titles in the gloom. "I was scared, okay?!" She hissed, clenching a fist. "You kinda made it clear that you weren't happy with my decision to leave." She removed the ring and played with it in her hands.

"No, I was not," Arthur conceded dryly. "And, frankly, I'm still not convinced that it was a smart move on your part. However," he paused for a moment, appearing to mull over his choice of words carefully, "it turned out fine in the end. It appears that my concern was unfounded."

"What..?" Amelia felt like her heart had skipped a beat, she even dropped her ring and listened as the flimsy metal rolled across the wooden floor without looking down.

"What?" Arthur snapped back, a slight scowl on his face as he raised an eyebrow.

Amelia tilted her head. "I just...never imagined you saying something...nice about me leaving…" She blinked. Could this be the same Arthur from all those years ago?

"Do not misunderstand," the blond man frowned, "at the time, it was an incredibly reckless, even foolish move." He shook his head and hissed. "Getting rid of your agent. Fine, that was understandable. But, leaving the band and entrusting help from the Frog and Antonio of all people..?" He folded his arms in contemplation. "Never turn your back on the Frog...you should have learnt that much while you were under my care."

Scoffing, Amelia rolled her eyes. "Francis is a sweetie—he just plays the perv around you because he knows it makes you uncomfortable."

Arthur frowned. "And how, exactly, is that supposed to be reassuring..?"

Amelia shrugged. "It's not. I just thought you'd like to know." The American couldn't help but giggle, looking at the mildly horrified look that played across the Brit's face. Then, a zing of electricity shot through her spine when she saw that he too was smirking in amusement.

"Hey…" Amelia murmured, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. She waited until green eyes flickered to attention before she continued. "Do you think-" she stopped.

What was she trying to ask..? If he thought they could start over? Pretend that their years of animosity never happened? No, that would be impossible. Maybe that they could salvage their friendship..? It would be hard, for sure. The past was thes past, but the future could be changed—right? Universe, please, I need a sign!

"Do I think, what?" Arthur questioned, tilting his head slightly.

"Um, well… I—ah—" Amelia's eyes went wide when her anxious fingers went to fiddle with her ring, only to find it missing.

 _CRUNCH_

Amelia flinched at the sound, her stomach sinking.

"What the—?" Amelia watched as Arthur knelt down to investigate the source of the sound. Ears ringing, the girl watched as the scene played out before her as though in slow motion.

"Oh my God—I am so sorry Amelia…" Green eyes glanced up as nimble fingers picks tiny, shining fragments of metal from the floor before presenting them to the American in an outstretched palm. A tiny, bent bear and a tarnished, warped band. Her ring—the ring he had gotten her so many years ago.

For once, Amelia could not say a word—her voice was paralyzed in her throat. Instead hot, prickling tears began to well, threatening to overflow. There was her sign. In stepping closer, Arthur had accidentally destroyed something very dear to her.

"Maybe, I could fix it…" The Brit murmured, glancing doubtfully at the cheap, twisted metal in his hand. "Right…" he took a breath as though trying to inspire confidence, "all I have to do is straighten the teddy-" he moved the tips of his fingers to gently press the shape into place, "then I'll—" he stopped abruptly as the metal figure between his fingers snapped in two.

The air was still.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I'll replace it, I promise."

"No." It was the first word she could muster and it came out more ragged than she had meant. She cleared her throat. "I mean, no, thanks," She crossed her arms and looked away. "It's fine, really. It isn't something that I can replace. Buying a new one wouldn't make it the same. Don't waste your money."

Silence again.

"I understand…" Amelia turned to look at the Englishman again, slightly surprised at the determined look on his face, "in that case...I'll simply have to keep trying to repair it."

A chuckle escaped Amelia's lips, then another. Before she knew it, the girl was giggling, though she felt wet trails trickling down her cheeks. Taking the pieces from Arthur's hands, Amelia shook her head. "Even if you could fix it...it would just be a mangled thing."

It was true. Though the band had long been warped from numerous resizing throughout the years, now the tiny teddy silhouette had been halved down the middle. Looking at it left the girl with a sickly, empty feeling at the pit of her stomach.

Shuffling toward the desk, Amelia tilted her hands down, over a metal waste basket, and watched as the pieces fell into the container, metal clanking softly as they landed. "It's fine." She repeated, taking a breath. "It was old and breaking anyway." She tried to stealthily wipe her eyes on her sleeve. "I was just holding onto it for some sentimental, bullshit reason anyway…"

"Amelia…"

The girl did not immediately turn around, not trusting herself to not completely fall apart. Honestly, she didn't understand why she hadn't thrown it away years ago. It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it, she wondered why she would want to hold onto an obscure relic of her past. It would be simple to just throw it away. But, in the end, she never could, after all, once something like that was gone you can never get it back.

One more deep breath and she turned around, grinning so hard it almost made her cheeks hurt. "I'm okay, I think I'm just a bit tired from the flight." She closed her eyes, trying to convey her best sheepish smile. "I think I'll just crash for the night, we can talk more tomorrow, right..?"

Arthur began to murmur something that might have been an objection, but the American didn't give him time to say anything. Turning on her heel, she opened her eyes and walked out the door. Once again concealed in the darkness that enveloped the rest of the apartment, Amelia rushed back to Arthur's room like a child scared of the dark. Her heart was racing, worried about being stopped, worried that she would wake the rest of the house in her hurry, and too anxious to care. Somehow, she managed to reach the bedroom without turning on the lights or taking too many bumps in the blackness and she locked the door.

Heart pounding, Amelia put a hand over her mouth, desperate to calm her racing pulse and quiet her frantic panting. Her eyes began to burn again and this time they could not be placated. One tear rolled down her cheek, then another, and another. Her throat was painfully dry and her heart was beginning to pound painfully, silencing the sobs trapped in her chest became too painful.

Staggering to the bed, Amelia collapsed on the soft duvet and managed to clutch a pillow tightly to her face. Soon, that silky material was made wet and salty.

Letting the tears flow and the sickly emptiness envelope her, Amelia cried quietly, whimper muffled by the pillow that she now realized still smelled lightly of his shampoo. "Idiot…" she whispered hoarsely, gripping the pillow harder, "Idiot…"

Sitting up, Amelia wiped her eyes and sniffled, left hand reaching out for her ring before remembering that it had been destroyed. A mild panic trembled through her body at the realization as she searched for something else to calm the anxiety. Twirling her hair and glancing around the dark room, her eyes fell on a friendly face.

"Mint...right..?" She sniffled again, reaching for the small plush creature next to the bed. She lay down on her back and held the bunny above her face, examining it carefully in the moonlight that filtered through the curtains.

Immediately she felt a bit calmer, squeezing the incredibly soft toy in her hands. It was cool like silk, but soft like velvet. Taking deep, slow breaths, she traced the creature's face with her eyes. It definitely had a cheerful countenance but now, here in the darkness the bunny also looked a bit...sad?

Her heart had slowed its pace and the tear had stopped, leaving only damp trails and presumably bloodshot eyes. Amelia sighed, rolling on her side and clutching the creature to her chest. "Oh Mint...what should I do now…?"

Closing her eyes, Amelia kept Flying Mint Bunny close as her mind continued to mull over the situation before surrendering to the calm of sleep.

* * *

 **Hi everyone! I am so, so, so sorry about how long it's been—and how bad this chapter turned out.**

 **To tell you the truth, This chapter is an accumulation of months of attempts to get writing again. After my Grandfather passed and my sister left the country for school I was pretty depressed. I'm not trying to give an excuse, over half a year is way too damn long (if it makes you feel better—not a day passed by when I did not think of this story). What I am trying to say is that it is something that I have to deal with and that anti-depressants / anti-anxiety medications are super beneficial for my mental state. I hate having to take them as it makes me feel like I'm not strong enough on my own...but I've come to terms with the fact that my brain chemistry is just not quite balanced and they help me.**

 **Sorry for being preachy but, bottom line is; if you're like me or have other demons to face, seeking help is nothing to be ashamed of. I've said this for a while...but it is much easier to give advice than to take your own… Haha…**

 **Anyway, to those of you that are still reading this, thank you. Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read, follow, or favorite this story. Special thanks to Darkabyssoflove, Ellawritesfanficssometimes, Inky-Paws, and Nihonbara for your reviews and sentiments. I've been afraid of coming back to this site after my extended hiatus. But, I've stated that I will finish this story, and I never break a promise—even if it takes a while...**

 **To the friends that I've made, I'll get back to PMing you this week.**

 **My Love, until next time! Xoxo**

 **Published: 10/6/2018**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

 ****Warning: Cursing in this Chapter****

Fucking….damn it! Arthur silently seethed, staring out the threshold through which the American had disappeared. He'd done it again. Once again Amelia was hurt, and once again, it was his fucking fault…

Ripping his hand through his messy locks, Arthur racked his brain, trying to figure out where it had gone wrong… When they started arguing? When they had been getting along? When he'd taken her in as his "Little Sister"? No…it really didn't matter, what mattered was that Amelia was right...he couldn't ever fix the situation—not ever.

Turning from the door, Arthur eyed his guitar case that currently housed his favorite instrument. Usually, Elizabeth's strings pressed beneath his fingers would be the perfect remedy, a siren's song to put him out of his misery. Not tonight. No, not tonight…

Instead, the musician grabbed his coat and walked to the door. Every molecule in his being demanding distance from this flat where Amelia was so close. It was like whenever she was around, the American brought a whirlwind of confusion. Somehow his thoughts never got as muddled as they did when the bubbly blonde smiled at him—hell when she so much as looked at him.

Water dripped on Arthur's head. Looking up, Arthur found himself already on the stairs outside of the tower and caught in a light drizzle as the thick fog began to dissolve into the night.

"Brilliant…" he muttered to himself as pulled his jacket collar closer to his neck and set his gaze to the damp concrete. He wouldn't go back to his room for a different jacket, he would make due with the jacket he had after all the cold water on his face might do him good.

Okay, no more running. This all started when Amelia had asked him what she was to him. Though he had supposed to have been thinking her question over since he arrived home, Arthur had just not wanted to dedicate so much time to such an absurd question. Who would ask such a question?

Amelia, he realized, Amelia would ask such a question and she was expecting an answer.

The city at this time of night was surreal. The din of the traffic had slowed and was almost non-existent, most of the shops were long closed and dark, most of the light came from the streetlights and the reflections from the damp sidewalk.

"What do I think of Amelia?" Arthur mused aloud, watching as his breath created steam in the air. It had been so simple once upon a time. Of course she had started out as his "Little Sister". He had taught her what he knew about music and performing, just like a real big brother… Well...without all of the pranks and teasing that his own brothers had taught him with… It had been funny...Arthur could still remember how scared he had been to be a "Big Brother". All he had to model himself after were his own brothers—not the best role models to say the least. He'd vowed to protect Amelia, be the best Big Brother ever.

Hell, wasn't it normal to try to protect your little sibling? To care about them, fight with them, worry about them..? To love your sibling so much that it hurt..?

Arthur stopped. "Love…?" He pondered, feeling a cold emptiness settle him his stomach. Suddenly, it felt as though every warm feeling he had ever felt was sinking into the emptiness within him. Looking up into the street light, Arthur wondered where the love for family ended and...something more began.

Sighing, Arthur looked around, finding that he only vaguely knew where he was in the city. He'd walked farther than he had planned, lost in thought. How long had he been out here? An hour..? Two..? His jacket was completely soaked...so it had been some time. This couldn't go on, he needed advice.

The musician knew what he needed to do. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, the Brit pressed a familiar contact and brought the device to his ear. Walking a few more paces, he stopped under the streetlamp and listened to the ringing with thinning patience.

Finally, the call was answered. "What?" A groggy voice snarled from the line.

"I need some advice." Arthur stated to the cranky Norwegian, "And you're the most sane person I know."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments. "I'm hanging up."

"Lukas, I'm serious." Arthur sighed. "I don't—I don't know what to do. Amelia showed up at my mother's house—I walked in on my Mum interviewing the poor girl—this was after Amelia's ex dragged me out to train for the concert—"

"Wait, wait—what..?" Lukas muttered, his voice still thick with sleep. Arthur could hear what sounded like bed sheets rustling and could just hear the flick of a light switch. "Damn-it, Arthur do you have any idea what time it is..?" Groaning, Lukas seemed to resign himself to the call. "Okay, now calm down, you aren't making sense. What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "Okay, you know about the situation with Amelia and I, right?"

"Mmm," his friend hummed, "Mathia and Tino won't shut up about it."

That struck the rockstar as peculiar, but he didn't push it. "Anyway, I had to return home last month to help my Mum take care of Peter and I told Amelia that she couldn't come—you know how my family is—especially mother." Lukas hummed in agreement. "But today, Amelia's ex, Ivan came to 'train' me for the concert's dance number or some rubbish like that. Then, when I returned home, I found Amelia had come and was being interrogated by my mother."

"Interesting…" The Nordic murmured. "But, I don't understand, what do you need to talk to me about in the middle of the night?!"

Arthur stopped and bit his lip. "Well...it's kind of—kind of hard to explain…" More like embarrassing. "We had a fight."

"You sound like you're asking for marital advice," Lukas mused. Arthur felt a shiver run up his spine.

"No! That's not what I—"

"Relax," Lukas shushed, chuckling quietly as his monotone voice conveyed amusement. "I wasn't being serious. But, honestly, I don't understand why a fight would be such a big deal. From what you've told me before, you and Amelia often don't see eye to eye, what's so special about this time?"

Where should he start? "She asked me—before I came back home—what she means to me."

"And?"

"And, I don't know how to answer that question…"

"That's what the fight was about?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes. I haven't given her an answer yet—I don't know what to tell her."

The other side of the phone call remained silent, Arthur wondered if his friend were mulling over the conversation or if the call had been dropped. "Lukas?"

"I'm listening." The calm voice answered. "I just don't see what the problem is, just give the girl an answer. Tell her the truth."

It was Arthur's turn to remain silent. In his mind, his friend was smarter than this...maybe he should have called Vladimir instead…

"Arthur, it's a simple question: how do you think of her? As a friend? A sister? A lover?"

"How would I know the difference?" It was a stupid question, a really stupid question, but what else could he say?

The Norwegian hummed, apparently deep in thought. "You love her, don't you?" Arthur's heart skipped a beat as a a shiver ran up his spine. "Hmmm…" Lukas hummed again, "since you didn't reflexively deny it—and actually stayed quiet... I'd say that there is a good chance that you like her—maybe even love her. Mystery solved. Good night..."

"It can't be—" The blond stammered lamely, more for himself than his friend. Stepping back, he felt the cold metal of the street lamp pressed against his spine.

"Fine. Suit yourself, you don't love her," the sleepy male muttered, obviously reaching the tail end of his patience. "Then just let her know that she's just a friend—or not—and move on." There was a hissing sigh on the other end of the line. "All I am trying to say is that it sounds like you tried to protect her from your Mum, which is more than I can say you did for Vlad and —whatever you do, do it, and let me sleep!"

Arthur nodded dumbly, "Right, sorry...thank you…" Without waiting for a response, the Brit ended the call, pocketed the cellular, and sighed.

It had been a terrible idea, calling Lukas for solid advice in the middle of the night. But, he supposed that it was still better than getting mixed up with the all too eccentric Vladimir. God knew, the Romanian man would have hyper romanticized the whole situation.

Vlad would have asked how Amelia made him feel—he would have asked whether his heart ever started beating fast around the Yank...whether he liked holding her hand...whether he had enjoyed sleeping next to her in the hotel…whether he could imagine life without her… A lump rose in his throat.

Damn it! He covered his face with his hands, feeling heat build around his neck and ears. No. No, no, no, no… This was not how it was supposed to end! Fairy tales did not exist. There were no perfect princesses or knights in shining armor. And, there most certainly were no such things as happy endings. It did not make sense—it wasn't that easy for a heart to heal or for...fondness to blossom

There was no magic wand to fix the past and he wasn't sure if he wanted to let the energetic singer in. The last time he had...it had ended painfully. He never wanted to feel that way again.

Arthur blinked, eyes adjusting to the gloom surrounding the streetlamp's small pool of light. Maye...maybe the pain of loosing her was the point. It hadn't hurt nearly as bad when his other young "siblings" had gone off to pursue their fortunes. Hell, sometimes he hoped one or two of his brothers would take a sabbatical from the band. The fact was, when Amelia left, it had cut him deeply—gutted him, really. It had been...personal...

Where had it all gone wrong? He'd been so careful to keep the Yank at a distance, but Arthur couldn't deny that she drew him in, like a moth to a flame. If it came right down to it, the pain of loneliness seemed to pale when compared to the pain of unresolved "what-ifs".

Damn Lukas and Vlad—even if Vlad had not really even said anything—imaginary Vlad was just as bad as the flesh and blood. Because of them, the Brit knew that he would not be able to have peace unless he saw this to the very end. There was only one thing to do—he was going to have to face Amelia truthfully. To do that, he was going to have to at least attempt to get back on her good side…

Turning on his heel, Arthur raced back up the lane. He only had a few more hours before day-break. If he wanted to fix her ring, he would have to work fast.

Rushing back into the loft, Arthur stomped into the study as quietly as he could manage and went straight to the waste bin. Luckily, it was empty, and he easily pulled out the broken pieces of the teddy bear ring.

"Fuck…" he groaned, looking at the old, worn and wrapped metal. It was in worse shape than he had imagined. The metal was discolored and thin from the years of continuous wear and tear. Upon further examination, it became clear that the ring truly was beyond repair, just as Amelia had said. Bollocks…

"There must be something…" he muttered, looking around the study, praying beyond hope that, hidden somewhere in the room, was the secret item that would save the entire situation.

Vases, chairs, photos, busts, trinkets galore...nothing that would work… Frowning, the rocker continued to scan his surroundings: pillows, lamps, a potted plant, Elizabeth's guitar case…

Wait… Arthur did a double take, allowing his eyes to rest on the leather home for his beloved instrument. Wait...that might actually work…

Walking over to the case, Arthur flipped the cover open and examined the guitar that slept within. It's perfect… He smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Love," he whispered, taking the instrument from the protective case and gently taking it to the desk. He got to work. If he wanted to be done by morning, he was going to have to work fast.

Lukas = Norway

Vlad = Romania

Word count: 1,908

Published: 21/9/2018


End file.
